


Legends of the Fey

by The Manwell (Manniness)



Series: The Brothers Maxwell [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, M/M, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Same-Sex Marriage, magical au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 55,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/The%20Manwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being married is hard enough without the legend of a mythical knife that has the power to destroy souls adding to the mix.</p><p>Sequel to "Duo and the Fey"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boston Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo POV
> 
> Rated M for sexytimes -- brace yourself accordingly (^_~)

“Honey, I’m home!”  I grinned as I kicked the door shut behind me.

“’Honey’ is in the shower,” Solo told me and I plotted my course accordingly.  “Whoa-whoa, hold up there, Casanova.  You got some mail from the university.”

“OK.  I’ll—”

“Open it now,” he demanded, shoving the envelope under my nose and waving it around boisterously.

“Jesus fried a chicken.  Are you trying to poke my eye out?”  I grabbed the letter and tore off the end of the envelope.  I’d pulled out the single, folded sheet of paper and was just flicking it open when there was a crash in the bathroom.  “Tro?” I called, tossing the letter onto the dining table and hauling ass down the hall.

“Babe?  You OK?” I called through the door.

I heard a groan.

 _God, no!_  

Frantic, I shouldered my way into the steam-filled room and yanked the shower curtain back.  My fey lover was smiling at me as he leaned back against the wall under the spray, his hand fisting around his hard cock as he stroked very, very slowly.  At his feet was a windfall of bottles – shampoo, conditioner and the like – that had been tipped out of the caddy hanging beneath the shower head.

“Welcome home,” Trowa said.  “Close the door and get in here.”

Chuckling, I nudged the bathroom door closed and then leaned against the sink opposite him, tugging my barista polo shirt up and over my head.  Eyeing the scattered bottles, I mused, “Since I know you’d never make a dumb mistake or lose your balance, the only explanation left for this mess is that it was intentional.”

“Of course.  You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yup.  That I am.”  I flicked open the button on my khaki slacks and slid the zipper down.  Trowa’s green eyes followed my progress with singular focus.  I slipped my thumbs inside the elastic waistband of my boxer shorts and ran them back and forth teasingly.

“Off.  Everything.  Now,” Trowa commanded.

“Say the magic word.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You know what it does to me,” I finagled.

His jaw clenched.

I turned toward the mirror and started futzing around with our assortment of guy shit.  “OK, then.  Maybe I’ll shave here real quick before dinner—”

“Fuck.”

A shiver rolled through me at the sound of his voice purring that one syllable.  I turned back around.  He was holding a hand out to me.  “I need a fuck, Duo.  I need you.  To get in here.  Now.”

My lopsided smile stretched into a grin of anticipation.  “You got it, baby.”

In less than three seconds, I was outta my clothes and under the spray, gathering him into my arms and kissing him with teeth and tongue.  Feasting on him.  I pushed him back against the tiles, pulling his arms up over his head and banding one forearm across both wrists to hold him there.  He lifted a leg and I hooked my free arm under his knee, tugging in time as we rolled our hips in the steam.  A locomotive speeding for a dark tunnel ahead.

He moaned approvingly when my hard cock bumped against his balls.  His hips thrust forward and he quickly used the space he’d created between us to turn around so that he was facing the wall.  His ass pressed back against me and I reached down to run my fingers along his cleft.  He whimpered.  I circled his entrance.  He was slick and relaxed.

“Oh, baby,” I thanked him, mouthing messy kisses against his shoulder as I reached for the only thing left on the caddy – a small bottle of lube.

He rocked his hips, rubbing his cockhead against the hard shower wall and my impatience matched his.  Goddamn but I’d spent the whole day missing him.  I hated it when our schedules didn’t line up, but here we were now and all the important bits were aligning very, very nicely.

“Tro-Trowa,” I gasped as he pushed back against my slippery cock and I was sliding in.  “So—so—so _God_ so good, baby.  Uhng…”

“Aaaah, Duo.”

I braced myself against the shower wall and held still, letting him fuck himself on my cock, relishing how fucking hot he was, how unbelievably sexy, how mesmerizing his hips were as they moved.  His shoulders and back flexed as he took me in.  He turned his chin to look at me over his shoulder and the eye I could see was heavy-lidded and glittering with need.  His lips – a little swollen from my feral kisses – parted to allow each panting breath an easy escape.

“I’m ready,” he breathed, eyeing me from beneath his lashes.  “Now.  Fuck me now.”

I banded my arms around his hips, pulling him back against me and trapping his cock between my wrists.  I surged into him.  His head snapped back on a gasp that was nearly drowned out by the hissing water.  I had to seal my mouth over the scars on his back to muffle my groans as I thrust into him over and over and over.  Despite my best efforts to stay quiet, whimpers and whines escaped on breath after breath.  Trowa was insensate, his fingers clawing at me until he gave up trying to match my rhythm and just let it happen.  Let himself ride against me.  Let himself fall into the sensation.

Over the last four weeks, I’d learned him inside and out.  I knew what I was rubbing with every roll of my hips.  His helpless mewls confirmed it—if he couldn’t even manage a proper moan, it was because he was overloaded with pleasure, unable to focus on anything other than his next shallow breath.

I also knew that if I kept this up any longer, he’d be sore as hell tomorrow, so I pressed my teeth against his skin – just the illusion of a bite – as I slowed, pulling back long and leisurely, and then with equal care pushed back in.  His skin pebbled with goosebumps and he leaned his forehead against the wall.  Yeah, I knew he liked it like this, too.

Once.  Twice.  Again.  And again.

“What do you want, baby?” I murmured, my voice fading and hitching with how incredible this felt.  “You want me to come inside you?”

He rocked his head against the wall, shaking it from left to right.

“Later tonight?”

That got a nod.

“You want me to suck you off now?”

Another nod.

“OK, baby.”  I pressed deep inside him one last time and rocked my hips, giving him – giving both of us – a sample of something to look forward to after we went to bed.  Then I carefully withdrew and his needy whine was so hot it burned through my entire body.  It took every ounce of my self-control to change it up – angle him in front of the water so that his shoulders blocked the spray as I sank to my knees, palmed his ass, and took him into my mouth.  I’d long since lost count of the number of times I’d given him head; fuck did I love it.  Loved having his sensitive swollen cock in my mouth.

As he rocked his hips forward, I looked up at him.  He looked down at me, watching himself disappear between my lips.  I watched his jaw unhinge as I started sucking.  And then I pressed a finger against his pucker, sliding it firmly into his slick passage and rubbing endless circles against him.

He didn’t last long, which was the biggest fucking compliment on the planet.  I swallowed his musky, woodsy come as he bit his lip and whined, bending over and bracing his hands on my shoulders.  He was shuddering and he was… _mine._   He was mine.  Completely mine.

And I was his.  I was hard and aching and hell yeah I wanted to come, but if he wanted me again tonight – if he wanted me on my back as he rode me or if he wanted my arms around him as we spooned and slow fucked or (best of all) if he wanted me to make love to him until we both came in a slow, hot wave – then I’d wait.  I was happy to wait.  It was just gonna take a couple of minutes for my dick to get a clue and put it on the back burner.

Trowa slid to his knees – his beautiful scarred knees – and I wrapped my arms around his waist.  He leaned his head against mine and rubbed my back.  When the water started to get cold, he reached over to shut it off.  I tilted my face toward his and he kissed me.  Soft and slow and shallow.  He knew that just a touch of his hot tongue could make me shiver and – _ah yes_ – it most definitely did.

“Missed you today,” I told him, rubbing my hands over his wet skin.

“How was your day?”

I smiled at his belated but very human attempt at welcoming me home.  “Busy.”

“I know.  I came by.  There weren’t any seats available.”

Yeah, Tro would usually come into the coffee shop and wait for me to go on break.  Then I’d bring him a scone to go with his herbal tea and we’d have fifteen amazing minutes together before I had to get back to bussing tables, loading and unloading the dishwasher, and changing out the coffee filters.  It was easier when I had the day off and Trowa was working at the butcher shop directly across the street; the owner didn’t mind if I hung around and gave Tro a hand with wiping down the showcase or whatever so long as Tro kept the shop front spotless and we limited our conversations to the lulls between customers.

When both of us were working, which didn’t happen as often as I’d hoped, I could always look up from whatever I was up to my elbows in – dirty dishes or coffee grounds – and share a look with him across the usually quiet street.  If anyone noticed, they probably thought we were stalking each other – he was stalking me or I was stalking him – but it wasn’t like that at all.  He watched me not because he didn’t trust me or because he was worried about me, but because I was his companion.  He was stuck in the human world and I was his point of reference.

It was the same for me, too, to be completely honest.

“You messed up my braid.  Again,” I informed him.

He gave me that fucking sneaky fey smile of his.  “I did.”

God, but I loved him.

I was less enthusiastic about putting my barista uniform back on, though, so I claimed a towel and wrapped it around my waist.  I left the tumbled bottles for Trowa to pick up; I wasn’t the one who’d made that damn mess, after all.

By the time I’d wrung out most of the water from my bedraggled braid, the bathroom was back to its normal state of semi-chaos and Trowa had pulled on his usual evening loungewear: one of my old T-shirts that was a good two sizes too small for him and a pair of cotton sleep shorts.

I waved Trowa ahead of me and his fingers trailed down the center of my bare chest as he passed me into the hall.  I dumped my dirty laundry into the clothes hamper and threw on some jeans and a baggy T-shirt.  I caught up with Trowa in the kitchen.  He was locked in a staring contest with my big brother.

Yes, that sure as hell was Big Brother Solo sitting at the dining table with that stupid letter from Boston U laid out in front of him and murder in his eyes.

“Oh, fuck, what now?” I bitched.  “Did I miss a deadline or somethin’?”

“Or somethin’,” Solo informed me, “This is from the housing board, excusing you from having to report to your assigned dorm in September, Mr. Duo Maxwell, since you already share a residence with your spouse—”  His glare slid in Trowa’s direction.  “— Mr. Trowa _Maxwell.”_

Oh… shit.

I stepped up beside Trowa and slid an arm around his waist.  I faced off with Solo.  “I’m thinkin’ now’s a good time to tell ya – Trowa an’ I got married.”

Solo leaned his head into his hands and burrowed his fingers into his hair.  “Fucking hell, Duo.  What the—seriously how—you’re eighteen fucking years old, damn it!”

“Yeah.  I noticed.”

“Please give me one good reason to be OK with this.”

“It was your idea, genius.”

He dropped his hands, lifted his head, and glared at me.  He pointed a finger at me in a silent but deadly warning.  Strike one.

I tried again.  “Jesus, Solo.  It’s my life!”

His second finger joined the first which was still pointing accusingly in my direction.  Strike two.

I caressed Trowa’s stiff back and yanked a chair out for him.  Then I pulled out the one beside it and sat.  Solo folded his arms on top of the table and waited.  I looked from him to Trowa.  My husband was watching me with a look of curiosity and concern.  He whispered, “How can I help you?”

I smiled and reached for his hand, interlacing our fingers.  “You just did,” I told him and turned back to my brother.  “Yeah, I’m too young for this.  I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing – neither of us do.”  I rubbed Trowa’s captured thumb beneath mine.  “But we’re working on it and the only way we’re gonna figure it out is together.  Us getting married – we just want a shot at making progress toward that, a little bit every day.  I ain’t givin’ up school, but I ain’t givin’ up Trowa, either.”

“You should have discussed this with me before you went out and did it, dumb-bro,” Solo growled.

I disagreed, but I didn’t tell him that.  I said, “Do you want us to move out?”

He ruffled his own hair in frustration.  “No, Goddamn it.  It’s just—I’m supposed to be looking out for you, li’l D.”

I didn’t point out that I wasn’t so little anymore.  Wasn’t so helpless that I needed his watchful gaze, either.  “So it’s a good thing I’m stickin’ around, huh?”

“Asshole.”

“Learned from the best.”

He shook his head.  “You didn’t learn this from me.”

But I kinda had.  How many girlfriends had I seen come and go through this place on my spring, summer, and winter breaks?  Just a quick hi-and-bye – there hadn’t even been time for a “what’s-your-name-isn’t-that-pretty-how-do-you-spell-it!” – and then Solo was single again.  What the hell was he looking for?  I didn’t know, but I was damn sure I’d already found mine.  And I was keeping him.

“So, you’re both gonna live here from the fall,” Solo summed up.

I snorted.  “Your enthusiasm bubbles over like a plugged toilet.  What’s up, stud?  Are we cockblockin’ ya?”

He kicked me under the table.  “No, turd-brain.  It’s—”  He looked up and told my husband, “No offense intended, Trowa, but this isn’t what we’d consider a normal life.”  His gaze slid in my direction.  “You get that I’ve been busting my ass so you could have a shot at normal, right?”

But there was no way that normal life was ever gonna happen.  It’d been a lost cause since the day I’d run off to look for adventure in a forest in Scotland.  Deep down, I think Solo knew that.  Knew it, but couldn’t let it go.  Wasn’t ready to.  Was trying really hard not to blame Trowa for screwing with some damned white-picket-fence vision he had for me that I’d never asked for or wanted.

I told him, “Normal’s overrated, So-bro.”

“Yeah,” he said after a long moment.  “It surely is.”  Then he got up and went to the fridge to pull out three plastic cartons of sushi that he’d picked up on the way home from the gym.  An entire container was full of nothing but Boston rolls – Trowa’s uncontested favorite.

“Thank you, Solo,” he murmured.

“You just take care of my little brother, Tro.  We’ll call it even.”

Even or not, I was ready to just call it a draw.  Solo and I still weren’t seeing eye-to-eye, but this wasn’t an issue we were gonna iron all the wrinkles out of in one evening.  I let well enough alone.

Baseball was on TV – the Red Socks were hosting the Blue Jays at Fenway – and if it had been the Celtics playing, I would have said to hell with washing my hair.  But basketball season was over and I’d never really gotten into baseball.  Tro liked it, though, probably because it was more like chess than blood-sweat-and-get-outta-my-face-bitches athletics.  So I punched Solo in the shoulder and then pressed a kiss to Trowa’s temple as I announced, “Got the opening shift tomorrow, so… shower time.”

Solo nodded.  “Rock out.”

Trowa reached up and palmed the back of my head, rubbing his cheek against my jaw.

Neither of them took their eyes off the TV and I smirked my ass down the hall into the bathroom and the refilled hot water tank that was just waiting for someone to appreciate it.

I shampooed, rinsed, conditioned, and then made liberal use of the body soap while I waited for the magical defizzifying properties of modern hair care treatments to take effect.  I leaned a hand against the shower wall and rolled my shoulders under the spray.  Somehow, I wound up staring at the ring finger on my left hand.  My ringless ring finger.

The idea of wearing a gold ring had horrified Trowa.  Why wouldn’t it when a gold ring worn through the nose – your basic nose ring – was a symbol of unconditional servitude to fey?  I’d still picked up a pair of simple silver bands at a jewelry shop a couple of days after we’d returned to city hall to sign the marriage license and make our relationship all official and legal.  I winced as I recalled how worried Trowa had been when I’d wandered out of the bookstore where he’d been up to his ears in the non-fiction offerings.  I’d only meant to be gone a couple of minutes.  I hadn’t thought he’d notice.

_“Where were you?”_

_“Calm down, baby.  I just ran across the street.”_

_“You did not tell me this.  Why?”_

_“Well, ‘cause I kinda wanted it to be a surprise.”_

Some surprise.  A ring he never wore.  A matching ring I only wore at work to keep people from trying to get too personal but wished like hell I could wear all day, every day.  Well, it was an ongoing project.  I might not be able to convince Trowa to wear his and that was fine – really totally fine – but one of these days, I wanted to see a smile on his face when he looked down and saw the silver band on my finger.

Nobody had ever said life with a fey husband would be easy.  I certainly had never expected it to be.  I was still working on getting him to compromise.  I felt a lopsided grin stretch my mouth at the concession he’d made earlier.  Sometimes he drove me absolutely insane – hell, the apartment was looking more and more like a frickin’ tropical rain forest what with his tendency to spend half of his damn paychecks on “rescuing” unhappy plants from the local flower shop – but when he made an effort to meet me halfway…  Jesus, I dined on those moments.

I did the final rinse, my arm muscles burning from lifting and shifting the weight of my waterlogged hair.  This was regular maintenance – nothing special – but the amount of time I spent braced on my hands with Trowa’s long legs wrapped around my hips was starting to give me legitimate biceps and triceps.

I was still grinning when I shut off the shower and started wringing the water out of my hair.  There was a single, soft knock on the door less than a minute later and I invited Trowa in so he could help me dry it.  Combing and braiding happened across the hall in our room.

Yeah, it was our room now.  I’d taken down all the old band posters and shit that I’d thrown up on the walls to keep Solo from worrying that I was drifting from reality.  Now there were sketches – oil pastel mostly but there were some charcoal ones thrown in here and there – done in Trowa’s increasingly talented hand tacked up all over.  Thank God we still had plenty of wall space left for him to use.

And an encore “thank God” for the fact that the ones he’d done of me were taped up to the back of the door so Solo couldn’t see ‘em.  I was sure I didn’t smile like that – all charming dimples and soft gazes and shit – but what did I know?  Maybe Trowa really saw this when he looked at me.  Maybe I wanted him to.

I shouted a good night to Solo as our evening routine took us out of the bathroom.  I plopped down on the bed and felt Trowa crawl up behind me, his fingers moving through my hair with gentle confidence that just about made me purr.

“You want me to read tonight?” I asked him.

“Yes.  Please.”

I picked up the library book he’d been working through and opened it to the page he’d marked with a fallen leaf from off the sidewalk.  Psychology wasn’t a subject that I would have normally spent precious free time studying up on for the hell of it, but Trowa was into it.  I was nearly finished with the chapter when Trowa ran his fingertips along the weave of my finished braid and pressed a kiss to my neck.

My eyes drifted shut.  “I’m almost done with this part.  You want me to finish?”

His cool fingers drifted over mine and closed the book.  “I want you to finish, yes.”

Ah, fuck.  We both knew he wasn’t talking about the section on brain development in adolescents.  I let go and leaned into his touch, tilting my head.  “Trowa.  Baby.”

He hummed and kissed the hinge of my jaw.  I shivered at the touch of his tongue, the sting of his teeth.  When he turned me around and nudged me down onto my back, I fell against the pillows gladly.  So damn glad to be alive and with him.

I lifted my arms when he tugged my shirt up and off.  I arched my back and hips when he tugged on my shorts.  I caressed his skin like I’d never had the privilege and he moaned quietly like this was our first time.

“My chosen,” he groaned into my neck, his bare body stretching out over my heated skin in a slinky move that had me grabbing his slender hips and groping up his strong back.

“Yours,” I agreed, rubbing every possible inch of my skin against him.  He kissed a trail down my chest and I had to shift my hands further up his back.

“Thank you.  For earlier.  In the shower.”

I grinned.  “Jesus, babe.  Don’t thank me.”

“Why not?” he asked my navel and I was having a hard time keeping track of the conversation.

“Because – fuck – it was so hot and felt so good—what are you—nugh…”

He licked at my belly button a second time and then blew a cool breath over the wet patch on my skin.  “You give me what I want.  What I need.  You stopped – waited for your release – when I asked you to.”

“I—uh—don’t mind.  I know it’s better for—for both of us if I—wait—to—”

And then Trowa’s hot tongue painted a wide brush stroke across the head of my cock and the intensity of it woke me from the haze of need.  “Whoa.  Wait, baby.  What’re you doing?”

I leaned up on an elbow and watched him watch my swollen cock.  With a glance, I could tell that he wasn’t hard.  Not like he had been when he’d been sucking and licking at my neck and chest.  I’d certainly felt him then, trailing a teasing path of moisture along my thigh.

“Hey,” I prompted.  “Talk to me, please.  What’s going on?”  Something had to be because of all the things Trowa and I had done and tried, he had never – not once – been interested in sucking me off.  We hadn’t talked about it, but I knew there had to be things that reminded him of the fee he’d had to pay the guardian of the Nithlyn Dell masters.

I reached for one of his hands where he was clutching at my hips.  “I asked you once to tell me if something bothers you.  I need to know, Trowa.”

He looked up, his lower lip caught between his teeth.  “I… Perhaps I don’t… reciprocate well.  Things between us should be fair, shouldn’t they?”

Oh, God.  The words should have been another victory for us – for our marriage – but as I studied his stiff shoulders and soft cock they felt more like a failure.  One hell of a failure if the bliss he felt when I touched him couldn’t compete with his discomfort.  With, God forbid, the revulsion his memories evoked.

“C’mere,” I breathed, holding out a hand to him and he slid into my arms, wrapping a leg around my hips and I pulled him as close as I could.  “You give me what I need, baby,” I told him softly.

“I think—I think you give me more.  More than I give you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Solo said—um…”

Sonuvabitch.  “He said what?” I nudged gently, petting Trowa’s hair and neck and scarred back.

“He said marriage is an equal partnership.  That it was important to make sure things were fair.  Fifty-fifty.  Give and take.”

I was gonna beat the shit outta my brother’s interfering ass.  “Baby,” I crooned, “he didn’t mean you should do things in our bed that you don’t want to.”

What little progress I’d made in soothing Trowa was erased in an instant.  He stiffened against me and I could just about hear his teeth grinding together.  “But I wish I did.  I _want_ to want you in my mouth.  Want to take care of you the way you do for me.”

His face was still tucked down against my chest, so I pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.  “Baby, you do take care of me.  You do.”

He shook his head.  “It’s not equal.  Not the same.”

Forget beating the shit outta Solo.  I was gonna kill him.  “Oh, Trowa.  My consort and husband.  My everything.  There are so many damn things we have to do that we don’t want to – out there in the world – we have to go to work, have to do the shopping, have to take out the garbage, all that shit.  But here, when it’s just you an’ me, oh, baby, I just wanna be with you.  Wanna make you happy.  I can’t be happy if you’re not.”  I started up another massage over his tense muscles and cold skin.  “Do you trust me?”

He drew in a deep breath.  Nodded.

“Do you believe me?” I pressed.

He lifted his head.  “Show me.  Show me and I will.”

I glided my lips over his softly.  Like a paint brush on canvas.  Though which of us was which, I couldn’t say.  “How do you want me to show you, baby?”

He pulled back and glared at me.  “Why do you ask me?  Always ask me?”

“Because all I want is to hear you moan my name in pleasure.  I honestly don’t care how that happens as long as it does.  Happen.  Over and over again.”

He swallowed, his eyes widening at the husky quality of my voice.  “You… have no other preferences?”

“Baby, if I did, I would tell you.  That’s my responsibility.  If I need something, I have to tell you.  OK?  I’m not gonna make you guess and I don’t want you to worry.”  I petted his bangs away from his eyes.  “Trowa.  You’re perfect.”

And there.  Finally.  A smile.  The relief was so sharp it almost sliced me in half.

“Kiss me,” he requested and I did.  I kissed him.  I moved my mouth against his, content to converse just like this until we both passed out from lack of sleep.  But of course, as nice as this was, Trowa would want something a little… nicer.

“Duo,” he groaned when my lips moved over his jaw to the soft skin below his ear.  I moaned quietly in approval.  Jesus.  His lips forming my name.  His smooth voice made rough and husky and needy because of me.  Yes.  Yes this.  This forever.

“Duo,” he tried again as his fingertips dug into my back.  “Inside me.”

He tugged at my shoulders and I followed his lead, finding myself braced over him yet again, his thighs pressing against my hips and his feet locking together at the small of my back.  A whimper escaped me.

“Ah, fuck, baby.  Any way you want it.  Or if you don’t want it at all.”  I looked into his eyes.  “You can tell me ‘no.’  You should tell me ‘no’ if you don’t want it.”  He stared at me and I was so tempted to make him promise me, but I didn’t.  I said, “I’m trusting you to tell me what you need.  You know I’ll do my best to give it to you.”

“I know,” he breathed, his eyes shimmering with tears.  “I know I want this.  With you.  Inside me.”

I didn’t waste time trying to convince him otherwise.  Not when there were so many other uses for my mouth.  Not when I could draw soft groans and moans of surrender from his throat.  Not when my fingers could tickle him behind his knees until his swollen lips curled into a helpless smile before I pressed sucking kisses to his belly or pulled his fingers, one-by-one, into my mouth.

“Duo,” he panted.  “Please.  I’m so hard.”

He was.  So was I.  So hard it was starting to hurt.  But I wasn’t gonna rush the next part.

Fingers lubed, I began a new conversation, one in which I coaxed and convinced his body to open, to trust, to believe in me.  And, fuck, when he braced his hands against the wall above his head to thrust against my fingers, when his nipples peaked and his head fell back and his neck arched and his entire body was rocking and seeking and thrumming like a plucked lyre string—oh God.  What had I done – what had I ever done in my whole sorry, unremarkable life – to deserve a gift like this?

I ran my free hand over him, from his knee to his hipbone, up his side and over a nipple, across his throat to draw circles over his shuddering pulse as his entire being rolled in pleasure.  Even feeling the speedy rhythm of his lifeblood beneath my fingertips, I could barely believe he was real.

Real.  Mine.  I was so lucky.  So lucky he’d chosen me.  So damned lucky.

I brushed my lips over his shaft.  “OK?” I checked.

“Yes yes yes yes please, Duo.  Com—plete me.”

I sucked him into my mouth as I played his sweet spot and he came biting his lip so hard I thought he was gonna tear the skin.  I rode out his orgasm, wondering if it was possible for the force of his inner muscles to break fingers.  But then he slumped against the pillows and I licked him clean as I waited for him to—

“Hmm, Duo,” he invited with a roll of his hips.

I fucked him slowly, gently as his sensitized body received my touch.  Two fingers.  Then three.

And then me.

“Like this?” I asked as my cockhead brushed over his entrance.

He nodded, his hands reaching for my arms.  I leaned toward him, fell into him as his palms slid down over my elbows and his fingers clutched at mine.  He lifted his hips, fitting his ass between my spread thighs until I was kneeling and he was impaled, his weight on his shoulders.  Then he pulled my hands up until I was folded over him and our interlaced fingers were pressing to the mattress on either side of his head.

Locked together.  We were.  Our bodies were.  Oh, God.  I held his gaze as I flexed my hips slowly.  His lips parted.  I drew back and flexed forward again.  His lashes fluttered and his eyes unfocused.  “Du-Duo…ahh…nugh…hnnn…”

Slow.  I made love to him as slowly as I could.  As deeply and gently as he wanted.  As he needed.  We’d had nearly a month of practice.  My endurance was a lot better than it had been that first time.  Or second time.  Or third time.

We danced.  Our bodies kissing.  Our gazes locking our souls together.

“Nuh, Trowa,” I moaned quietly, feeling his swollen cock rub against my belly.

“My chosen.  My chosen.  My chosen.”

We took our time.  I relished every moment of friction.  I was awed.  His body was so strong and hard and beautiful but welcomed me in every way.  The way he sprawled, so open and needy, and his soft sounds.  Jesus.  Just… just… just a little more.  Please, baby, please.

“Duo,” he groaned, his fingers tightening around mine.  “Please.  Release.  I need it.  Now.  Now.”

I kissed one of his nipples and then stretched up to suck on the side of his tender neck.  My hips rocked steadily, a little faster but no less gently.  Just a little faster.

“Yes.  Perfect,” he whined.  “You—you’re perfect.”

He gasped and I felt the hot rush of his completion gush against my skin.  Was rendered a slave to sensation as his passage clamped down around me so, so damn tight I could barely move.  He tilted his head against mine, panting and breath catching.  “Ah—ah—ah!”

“Trowa,” I answered mindlessly and let go.

My entire body tingled in a wave of white-hot sensation.  The rush of a hot ocean tide foaming over me from the tips of my toes to the top of my scalp.  I came, and he caught me in his arms.  Held me close.  Healed my scattered bits back together again.

I loved him so much.

He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and I tunneled mine beneath him.  I knew we wouldn’t be able to sleep like this.  I wasn’t ready to sleep yet.  Not yet.  I just wanted one more minute – maybe two – to hold onto him.  To hold onto us.  This.

His lips brushed the shell of my ear, but it was me who spoke.

“Thank you, Trowa,” I told him, my eyes squeezing as tightly shut as my arms were holding him.  “Thank you for choosing me.”

His breathing hitched.  His arms shifted and his fingers curled into my braid.  “Duo.  My Duo.”

Yes, I was.  And damn thankful for it.

I was less thankful for—

“Solo.  Mind your own Goddamn business.”

“Say what?”  My big brother blinked at me as I helped myself to some coffee, ignoring his casual “G’morning” in order to start reaming him out for being so fucking helpful the evening before.

“I said—”  I shoved the refrigerator door shut just as he moved to put the OJ back where it belonged.  “Mind.  Your.  Own.  Business.  Don’t give Tro these shit lectures about marriage.”

His mild morning glare scrunched into a scowl.

“You mean well—yeah, OK, good for you—but knock it off.”

“Christ, Duo.  He’s got no idea what it means to be married.  Somebody’s gotta tell him.”

“Well, if somebody doesn’t keep their fool mouth shut, they’re gonna be walkin’ around with a coupla black eyes.”

“The hell?”

I grabbed the plastic jug of OJ from him and tossed it on the counter.  “You have no idea the mess you made with that little schpiel about equality and shit.  Just—just leave it alone.”

“Are you insane?  This is a fucking train wreck waiting to happen—”

“Shut it.  You’re the fucking train wreck.  The next time you confuse him I will rip your Goddamn balls off.”

“What the actual fuck, Duo?”

“I’m not gonna explain it to you because you don’t need to know the details, all right?  What you need to do is trust me on this.  You were good with the brothers speech and the family lecture.  An’ you nailed baseball.  But don’t fucking say a word about marriage or what you think I want or deserve.  Not a fucking word.”

“I’ll say whatever I think needs to be said, clueless.  I’m not gonna just stand by and watch him walk all over you.”

“How the hell do you figure he does that?”

“Jesus, Duo, you let him get away with the craziest shit.”  He threw out his arms and gestured to the forest that the living room was evolving into.  “It’s the fucking Amazonian jungle in here.  He spends his money on Goddamn plants and you spend yours on him.  You thought I wouldn’t notice the silk underwear?”

“I don’t give a shit what you notice or not.  I hand over half my earnings for rent and food and shit.  The rest is mine to do with what I want—”

“You need to be saving up for school, damn it!”

“And as for Trowa, d’you ever think that maybe he needs to do this?  Where’s your collection of Marvel action figures, eh?”

“Those are an investment.”

“Maybe these plants are one, too!  Maybe he needs this to feel – I dunno – centered!”

“Does he?”

“Again—not your business.”

“It is my business when I damn near trip over the things!”

“Since when?”  There were plants in the window sills, on top of the fridge, on the table tops, but there wasn’t a single pot blocking a major foot traffic area.  “Have you been trying to climb in and out of the freakin’ windows?”

“What?  Jesus.  What the hell are we arguing about?”

“We’re not arguing.  I am informing you of the fact that you’re being a pushy shithead.  You don’t get to tell Trowa how to be my husband.  That is not your job an’ I ain’t gonna let you do it.”

“I’m doing you a fucking favor, moron.”

“No, I’m doing you one.”

“This is ridiculous.  Name one thing that qualifies you as an expert on marriage.”

“What makes you think you’ve got the market cornered on it, huh?  Because you spent twelve years instead of six watching Mom and Dad figure it out?  Or, no, wait—it was that one really serious relationship you had last year that lasted, what, all of three weeks before you dumped her?”

“And you think because you married the first thing you stuck your dick in that you’ve got it all figured out?”

I reared back.  It was either that or haul off and slug him.  “Don’t,” I seethed through gritted teeth, “you fucking take Chang’s side on this.”

“Yeah, well, di’ya ever think that maybe he’s right about—”

My hands fisted so tightly they ached.  “Stop.”  Was the word directed at him or myself?

Maybe both.

I snarled, “He’s a person.  He’s not a Goddamn _thing._   Just—just shut up.  Don’t talk to him.  Don’t you fucking say another word to him.”  I was shaking with fury.  “If you hurt him I will fucking end you, you asshole.”

I stormed out of the kitchen.  Fuck the coffee.  I had to get to work and I was not leaving without letting Trowa know that I was heading out.  I stopped in front of the bedroom door, took a deep breath to calm myself, and opened it.  Trowa startled.  I blinked at him.

Shit, here he was standing right next to the damned door.  He’d probably heard most of that.  Fuck.

“Can I come in?” I asked quietly.

He nodded.

I shut the door behind me.  His hands curled into loose fists, relaxed, curled again.  “Duo?”

I lifted an arm toward him, extending my hand, and suddenly he was in my arms, wrapped around me.

“I’m so sorry, baby.  I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand.  You are angry at Solo?”

“Yes, Goddamn it.”

“Why?”

Jesus, how could I even begin to explain?  I needed an analogy.  “Why’d you stop the masters from taking me all those years ago?”

He froze.  “You know why.”

Yeah, I did.  “Last night, Solo tried to fuck with something that wasn’t his.  You and me – our marriage – this is ours.  Not his.”

“He did not hurt me.”

“He confused you and that’s not acceptable, either.”

For a long moment, neither of us had anything more to say, but then Trowa sniffled.  I pulled back to wipe at the tears spilling from his eyes.

“See, this is the opposite of what I wanted.  I didn’t want to make you sad, baby.”

“I’m not.  Fey do not cry when we are sad or in pain.”

Now that he mentioned it, I had noticed this.  “Why are you crying?” I asked softly.

He sucked in a breath.  “Because you fight for my wellbeing.  My happiness.  Without asking for anything in return.  Fey do not do this for each other, but you do this for me.”

“Of course I do.  I care about you, Trowa.  You are the most important person in my existence.”  I cradled his face in my hands.  “I am here for you – whatever you need.”

He tilted his head against mine and our lips brushed.  We kissed – connected – softly, slowly as I combed his hair with my fingers and he tightened his arms around my waist.  I didn’t wanna stop – hell, when did I ever want to stop? – but I was gonna be late for work if I didn’t go now.

From out in the hall, I heard the bathroom door close.  Now was my chance to get out of here without having to deal with my brother again.  But first—

“Don’t listen to Solo’s advice,” I begged him.  “Just… if he tries to lecture you, walk away.  And please tell me about it.  I need to know how you feel, what you’re thinking.”

He nodded and I felt nine million times better.  “I’ll see you soon,” he told me.

“Gonna come by for a bit before your shift starts?”

“Of course.”  He said it like he literally could not think of a single solitary place in the universe where he should be instead.

I gave him a kiss, carding my fingers through his hair and exhaling a perfectly silent _I-love-you_ against his cheek.  I had to force myself to pull out of his arms.  His fingers brushed my cheeks and then he passed me my wallet, phone, and keys, and I left for work.

Solo’s jerkish bullshit still irritated me enough that I ended up jogging down the street to the café, arriving a whole three minutes early and feeling slightly less homicidal.  Slipping the wedding ring onto my finger sent a final wave of calm over me.  I could offer the assistant manager a smile and a chipper “Good morning” as we got the coffee machines locked and loaded for another day of caffeine-craving customers.

The morning rush was as rushed as usual until we hit our first lull after 8:30.  A familiar figure filled the doorway and I looked up from collecting used coffee cups to smile at Trowa.  He ordered a cup of chamomile tea and took his usual seat which gave him a view of the shop and, by default, me.  He cracked open his book to the leaf-marked page I hadn’t finished the night before and started reading.  I started counting down to my break.

“Gorgeous day, isn’t it?”

I looked up to see a girl about my age smiling at Trowa, sliding smoothly into a seat at the neighboring table.

He hummed a noncommittal reply.

Coffee machine maintenance called me back behind the counter and I couldn’t hear what was going on with Trowa and the girl.  Couldn’t spare the attention to take a peek, either, unless I wanted to end up with burns all over my hands.

However, when I finally got everything ready to go for the mid-morning mini-rush, the girl was nowhere in sight.  It was a little early, but I begged for my break and got a distracted wave from the assistant manager.  I bought a scone for Tro and a cup of coffee for me.  He looked up from the page he’d just turned, his lips curving the tiniest bit as I claimed the seat beside his.

“Hey.  Reading anything good?”

“The human mind is a mess.”

I laughed hard.  Maybe a little harder than I should have.  “You got that right.”  I glanced around, but I didn’t see the girl who had approached him.  “Your new friend didn’t stick around?”

“No.”

I studied his face, trying to figure out if the experience had been a good one or a… not-so-good one.

He set aside the book and pinched off a corner of scone.  “Banal topics.  The weather.  News.  Sports.  And then she extends an invitation to an event at her home.”

“Oh yeah?”

He sighed.  “I do not understand and this book—”  He waved at hand at the psychology text.  “—offers no explanation.”

“Uh, that’s probably because it’s assuming you already have experience with pick-up lines,” I replied drolly.  I shouldn’t be amused by this but, Goddamn it, it was funny that the sexiest fey guy on the planet hadn’t clued in to her interest.

His reply consisted of a nose wrinkle.

I reached for my coffee cup, bumping his arm accidentally-on-purpose.  “So wha’didya say?  To the party at her place?”

He met my arched brow with a fat smirk.  “I told her I’d have to check with my husband.”

My guffaw startled several sleepy patrons.  “Awesome,” I complimented him and took a sip of today’s brew.

His gaze flickered to my hand and snagged on the wedding ring I was wearing.  For the first time, he didn’t look completely displeased to see it on my finger.  He frowned thoughtfully.  “If I wear a ring, it will stop people from bothering me?”

“People like her, yeah.  Mostly.”

“Is that why you wear yours?”

I shrugged.  Not that I thought I was hot stuff or anything, but… “That’s why I wear it here.”

“You will wear it other places?”

“Sure.  School, for starters.”

“Not at home?”

My chest tightened.  “I wouldn’t mind wearing it at home.”

Trowa thought about that for a moment.  “I do not want to trap you, Duo, or control you.  Or use you.”

I nodded.  “I know that.  That’s not what this is.”

“What is it?” he asked curiously.

I considered my answer carefully.  “It’s a declaration,” I finally said and he jerked around to stare at me.  Study me.  I said, “Every moment I wear it, it says that I’ve made a promise to be with another person for the rest of my life.  So, when I wear it, it’s like—sort of—a constant renewal of that promise.  A continuous declaration.”

“Without magic.”

“Basically.”

He reached out and brushed a fingertip over the silver band.  He smiled.

I stopped breathing.

“I like that,” he told me and I ached to kiss him.

“Yeah?” I checked.

He nodded once.

“Then I’ll wear it.  All the time.”  A moment later, the happy look on his face started shifting toward something more somber.  Taking a stab at what he was thinking, I quickly added, “Because I want to.  And I know that I can take it off anytime.  It’s my choice.  It’ll always be my choice.”

And there we go—his smile was back.

“What time is your shift?” I asked.

“Ten.”

I checked my watch.  It was 9:36.  I had a whole two minutes left of my break.  I spent them ignoring my mostly full cup of coffee as he gently nudged the ring on my finger, sliding it around and around.  When the clock ticked over to 9:38, I stood with a sigh of regret.  I collected my cup and dared to comb my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck before giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“I’ll come over when I finish up here.  Two p.m. or so.”

He nodded.

It hurt to turn away and go back to work, but I was smiling so widely that the newly-arrived middle-shifter asked me if I’d won the lotto or something.

It sure felt like it.  “Eh.  Newlywed thing,” I said by explanation and she grinned nostalgically.

“I remember those days.  You keep right on smiling, then, hon.  Ain’t nothin’ like bein’ just married.  Nothin’ in the world.”  She glanced across the shop to where Trowa was watching me, book open in his hands.  “That your fella?”

“That’s him.”

“He’s a cutie.”

Among other things, yes.  Yes, he was.

At 9:55, I made my rounds to wipe down the tables.  I reached Trowa’s as he stood.  He handed over his teacup and saucer neatly stacked on the empty scone plate.  And as I stood there with a cooling rag in one hand and dishes in the other, he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.  My left one.

Did you know that too much joy can be physically painful?

“What was that for?” I heard myself ask.

He gave me a look.  “Two p.m.”

“I’ll be there.”

The rest of my shift dragged by.  It felt like I was hauling a sack of rocks up the steps of the Fenway stadium stands.  Things picked up at around noon, as usual, and I couldn’t spare many glances across the street at the butcher shop where Trowa was working.  Every time I did, there was some customer or other ordering meat from the showcase, blocking him from my view.  I was disappointed, sure, but Goddamn was I glad he’d come in to see me for my break today.  I eyed the silver ring I wore and my stupid grin was back in full force.

At a minute to two, I dragged two full bags of garbage out the back and tossed ‘em in the dumpster.  All I had to do was wash up and then hang up my snazzy black apron, and I’d be ready to cross the—

“Maxwell.  You need to come with me.”

I startled, spinning around and putting my hands up.  I would thank Meiran for drilling the reflex into me later.

I gaped and then blinked at my alleyway visitor.  “Jesus fried a chicken, Chang.  Don’t you ever call first?”

“That would not have been wise.”

“Right.”  I glanced at my watch.  “Well, I’d love to stay and chat—in a rank back alley—”  Cue sarcastic eyebrow quirk.  “—and shoot the shit with ya, man, but someone’s expecting me.”

Chang nodded.  “I understand, but you do not.  If you do not come with me willingly, you will come with me unwillingly.”

My jaw dropped.  “Seriously?”

His eyes narrowed.  “Yes.”

“And just what is so damned important that would justify abducting me?”

“The Sicarian.”

I ploughed a hand through my bangs.  “Fuck.  Not this again.”  It hadn’t even been a month.

“You need to come with me,” he repeated.

“Not without Trowa.”

“The fey is the last person you should be near.  That is, if you value his existence.”

I dropped my arm, braced my feet shoulder width apart, and held onto my temper with gritted teeth.  “Did you just threaten him?”

“Maxwell.  Be reasonable.”

“Chang.  Start making sense and I just might.”

“The Sicarian will be revealed.  It is only a matter of time.  You will want to have some say in when and how that moment happens.  Trust me.”

I was tempted to cross my arms, but I knew it would be a bad idea.  The worst fight strategy ever.  But fisting my hands?  Yeah, I could do that.  “Are we having this discussion on neutral territory?” I sneered.

“No,” he answered and that was the last thing I remembered hearing in the alley.

In fact, it was the last thing I remembered, period, when I came to in the back of a moving vehicle.  My entire body jerked.  I gnawed on the cotton gag and swiveled my head around, yanking at the zip ties around my wrists and ankles. 

 _That son of a bitch._   I was gonna kick his skinny ass.  Fury filled me until I could feel it burning through my eyes until I was on the verge of exploding.  I slammed my booted feet against the side of the car – or van, more likely – but didn’t hit a plastic liner or exposed metal.

“Murfk!”

I rolled over and looked into the face of an equally gagged and bound Wufei Chang.  Who I had just kicked in the shoulder.  And did not look very happy with me about it.  At all.

There wasn’t much to be happy about in general.

Where were we going?

Who was behind this?

What exactly did they think Chang and I could give them?

Most importantly, how was I gonna get outta here and back to Trowa?

About half of my questions were answered in one way or another when the van came to a stop and, after fifteen of the longest minutes of my life, the handle clicked and the door swung open.

I blinked up at the very satisfied smile of a woman with straight brown hair and silver-framed glasses.  Inspector Une of London.

“Sedate them,” she ordered and turned away, her heels clicking on the concrete.

I glanced around, struggling to gain a defensible position as some random meathead loomed in the doorway.  I saw the unfinished walls of a hangar.  A wedge of a jet wing and engine.

A hand clamped over my ankles and dragged me toward the edge of the van floor.  Chang struck with his bound feet and our handler swore inventively in some British dialect or other.  I squirmed.  Chang attacked again.  I rolled.  The guy gave it up and retreated.  I squiggled my way towards Chang.  The guy was a bag of dicks, but he could fight.  My best shot was buddying up with him.

Of course, when six fucking massive dudes descended on you from two different directions – the open door in front and the seats at your back – there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of wiggle room to work with.  A needle jabbed me in the arm.

I glared blearily, vowing my revenge as I gnawed ineffectually at the soggy cloth in my mouth.

When I woke yet again, I blinked through the chemical fumes of the sedative, focused with a herculean effort, and promptly shrank back from the pair of mirrored goggles not six inches away from my face. 

Hello, Adrenaline.  You were just what the doctor ordered.

The old man wearing those creepy accessories grinned widely.  I eyed his white lab coat and shoulder-length gray hair, quickly coming to the conclusion that I was not in a reputable medical facility.  The rest of my surroundings confirmed it: there was a chair with arm and leg restraints in the center of what looked like a fucking monk’s cloister complete with wooden drafting tables, a quarried stone floor, and leaded glass windows.  I was the schmuck strapped to the chair.

“Duo Maxwell, welcome to the above-dell home of Treize Khushrenada.  Well, one of them.  My associate and I have been so looking forward to meeting you.”

The scope of my vision widened to include a second man with the longest, thinnest nose I had ever seen, his grey hair ballooning around his sallow face in what could only be called a “mushroom-top cut.”

The first dude, Mr. Long Hair with Goggles, asked, “Would you like some water before we begin?”

The gag.  It was gone.  Thank fucking God.  “Begin what?” I tried to say, but my tongue was so dry that I only managed a vague whistling sound.  The end of a straw was placed between my lips and I greedily sucked down as much water as quickly as I could.  In the meantime, I noted what looked like a lie detector on the nearby table and an assortment of very sharp medical instruments.  All very unwelcome signs.

It occurred to me too late to try and slow my water intake – try to delay what was coming once I was all hospitably refreshed and hydrated – in the next moment, I was noisily sucking air from the bottom of the cup.

It was pulled away and I had no reason not to ask as many questions as possible to buy time.  For what, I didn’t know, but why the hell not, right?

“Sorry, but I must have been unconscious for the introductions.  Could ya run your names by me again?”

“Of course.  I am called J.  Doctor J.  And this is Professor G.”

“Charmed,” Mushroom Hair drawled in a snide tone.

“A doctor and a professor.  Is this some kind of academic conference?” I guessed wildly, forcing a grin that I hoped was more charming than terrified.

“Not exactly.”

“It’s a collaboration.”

“Yes, you see, we have a great many questions for you, Mr. Maxwell.”

“And a few scientific inquiries.”

I found my voice.  “Don’t I have to sign a waiver or somethin’ for that?”

“We’ve received no complaints before.”

And just how many of their previous subjects had _survived_ long enough to bitch them out?

I gulped.

“He doesn’t appear to be reassured,” G noted.

J nodded.  “Unfortunate for him, but it shouldn’t affect the results.”

“The results of what?” I squeaked, dreading the answer as much as I needed to hear it – needed to have some knowledge of what was going on here – needed to have the chance to agree to it or, failing that, brace myself for it.

“Just a few minor experiments.”

“It’s best if you try to relax.”

I snorted with disbelief.

“Suit yourself.  J, if you would?”

“Of course.”  He lifted a hand – or what had once been a hand.  Now it was a metal prosthesis that held a tripod of metal fingers which flexed at anatomically correct “knuckles.”  In his other – normal – hand, he lifted a fistful of sensors.  “We’ll begin with a simple interview and go from there.”

“Do let us know now if you need to relieve yourself beforehand,” G the Mushroom sneered.

J of the Bionic Bod concurred, “Yes, this process could take quite a bit of time.  As you may already be aware, the human mind is quite the mess.”

“Um, I’ll have to take your word on that,” I heard myself quip.

“You do that,” G retorted smartly.  “We consider ourselves experts in the field.”

“Of humans?” I confirmed.

G shuddered and J chortled, “No, my mortal dust mote.  The mind.  Let’s see what the weather’s like in yours, shall we?”

“How long are you planning to stay?” I asked as his tripod of metal “fingers” attached one electrode after another to my face.

“As long as it takes,” G informed me with an impatient look.

“Er, as long as it takes to do what exactly?”

J smiled.  “Now, you wouldn’t want us to ruin the surprise, would you?  I’ve heard humans enjoy surprises.”

I retorted, “Not this human.”

“An anomaly already?”  G actually appeared intrigued by this.

“So it would appear,” J agreed and then turned back to me with a grin.  “Tell us, Mr. Maxwell, what do you believe you know about the philosophers?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love. Don't make me beg like a bad 80's song, m'kay? If you're still reading this series, tell me what you like about it. I gladly accept lists, screen shots, emoticons, and novella-length dissertations. (^_^)


	2. Brothers-in-law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wouldn't normally think that a manhunt would be a bonding experience between brothers-in-law, and maybe it ain't... but it sure as hell is an educational one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solo POV

_Smack!_

My opponent crowed, “Yeah!  How d’you like that, Maxwell?”

“Ooh, felt kinda nice,” I replied with a grin.  “You know how much I like a lady’s touch, Mueller.”

His eyes narrowed and he lunged.  I was ready for the attack, though.  And one shot was all I was gonna let this clown have.  The sparring buzzer went off a few moves later, signaling the end of our two-minute session, and Master O gave me a look.  “Focus,” he said.  “Do not waste opportunities.”

I bowed, thankful for the evaluation, though I didn’t need his words to clue me in to the fact my sparring was crap at best today.  Master O needed quite a few more words to lecture Adam Mueller.  I listened as I tugged off the sparring gear – any of those comments could be a good reminder to me of skills I took for granted that I should be consciously aware of.  In myself and in my opponent.

Master O signaled for the next fighters to take their stances and there was a brief break period just long enough for—

“Hey, Mueller!  Nice shot you got in, there!  Only took you three years to land it.”

“Fuck off, Alex.”

“Yo, Maxwell, your phone’s been blaring for the past ten solid minutes.  I think someone’s trying to get ahold of you.”

“Thanks, Walker.”  I crossed the dojo and pushed open the door to the men’s locker room and, sure enough, “Welcome to the Jungle” was blasting.  Loud enough to be considered a dance tune, apparently.  One of the guys was playing an air guitar and another was lip-sinking through his fiercest orgasm face.

This was a prime ribbing opportunity right here, but I kept my mouth shut.  I knew exactly whose ringtone that was – I’d changed it this morning more out of spite than anything else – and I could not think of a single non-worrying reason for why Trowa would be trying to call me.  For the past ten damn minutes.

“Get lost, children,” I told Neither-Guns-nor-Roses and banged open my locker.

Snagging the phone, I tapped in the code to unlock the screen and started talking before Trowa did.  “Look, bro, I’m under strict orders not to say a single damn word to you until further notice, so if Duo asks, you better tell him that _you_ called _me._   Capiche?”

“ICANNOTFINDDUO.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear with a frown.  “Jesus, Tro.  Say that a little louder – my other ear drum didn’t burst.”

“I.  CANNOT.  FIND.  DUO.”

I glanced at the wall clock.  It was almost three.  “His shift was over at two, right?  Maybe he went straight home.”  For once.

“NO.  HE DID NOT.”

“OK, OK, where have you checked?”

“THE CAFÉ – HE WAS NOT THERE.  THE APARTMENT – HE IS NOT HERE, EITHER.  WHERE IS HE?”

Jesus.  “Trowa, calm down.  Please.  You’re starting to sound like a stalker.  It’s creeping me out.  And, anyway, aren’t you supposed to be at work until four?”

“I LEFT.”

Ah, fuck.  What a mess.  “Lemme try and call him, all right?  I’ll ring you back in a couple minutes.”

He hung up.  I slumped onto a bench and stared at the screen.  I’d been kinda hoping to do this face-to-face, but Tro was freaking out.  A phone apology and assurance that, yes, I’d already been punched in the face once today, was gonna have to be enough.  At least so Duo would confirm that he wasn’t being murdered by a serial killer or something and had a damn good reason for being MIA.

I called his cellphone.  No answer.

I called the café.  The assistant manager assured me that he’d already left for the day.

“Tell him to bring his apron with him when he comes to work tomorrow,” the man continued.

I frowned.  “He took off with it?”  That wasn’t like him.  At all.  No matter what cloud he was floating on in his little love haze, he wouldn’t have wandered off in a fucking barista apron of all things.  And if he had, he would’ve brought it right back, all blushes and bashful grin.

“I’ll let him know,” I promised and hung up.

I called the butcher shop where Trowa should have been working and was treated to an angry tirade once I’d introduced myself.

“Mr. Rowlski… Mr. Rowl—Mr. Rowlski!  We’ve got a situation here.  Duo is missing.”

“That does not justify—”

“He’s Trowa’s husband, OK?  And he’s missing.  Trowa’s out looking for him and I’m about to join the manhunt.  You do what you’ve gotta do, sir—fire him if you have to—but he didn’t walk out on the job just because he felt like it.  Now, are you sure you haven’t seen Duo today?”

“No, I haven’t,” the man replied much more calmly.  “They’re married, you say?”

“Yeah.  Just heard about it myself.”

“Well.”

“Lemme give you my number.  If you see him, please call me.  Or have him call me.  Or, better yet, tell him to call his damn husband.”

“Will do.”

I called Duo’s friends from school.  Even as I dialed each number and listened to one denial after another, I’d known it was a long shot.

Hanging up on the last person I could think of that Duo might voluntarily be with was pure pain.  Not just because I was starting to get legitimately concerned, but because I knew I was gonna have to call Tro back and tell him I hadn’t found Duo, either.

I made the call.

“WHERE IS HE?”

I winced.  Though he wasn’t shouting, the rage in his voice made the inside of my skull vibrate.  “I’m coming home.  Leaving the dojo right now.  We’ll find him.”

“SOLO.  I NEED HIM.”

“I know.  I know you do.  Tro, I promise I will do everything in my power to bring him home, OK?  But please, bro, take a deep breath.  Calm down.  You being angry right now ain’t helping.”

He hung up.

Which was probably better than him telling me to shove it where the sun don’t shine.

I didn’t bother to get changed or cleaned up.  I emerged from the locker room with my duffel bag thrown over my shoulder and my phone still clutched in my hands.  My hands were still wrapped up for a sparring match.  Master O watched me walk over, but said nothing.  Not that the guy ever said much of anything, but there was something about his gaze that weighed on me.

“It’s my little brother,” I said.  They were familiar words.  Words I’d said to him countless times over the last ten years.

“He is ill?”

“I hope not.  I think this is something else.”

He nodded and gestured for me to follow him into the dojo office.  He held out a set of keys.  “I am assuming you have a driver’s license.”

I did.  “Thank you, sensei.”  I took the keys.

“Call me if you need assistance, Solo Maxwell.”

“I might take you up on that.”

“Do not hesitate.”  He placed a hand on my shoulder.  “There is a lot at stake.”

I blinked, unsettled by his somber tone and unblinking gaze.  I took a step back.  His arm dropped.

“Do not be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.”  I wasn’t.  I was trying to reconcile the sudden suspicion that was seeping into my thoughts.  Could Master O really know about the fey?  Could he even be…? 

_No._

I couldn’t think it.  Couldn’t imagine the man who’d taught me self-defense at the Boston boarding school I’d attended – the one man I’d trusted above all the other adults in my life right up until graduation – to be part of a world that had taken so much from me and my little brother already.  The thought that he might be one of them—I couldn’t think it of the man if I wanted to continue to trust him without reservation.  Losing that trust – now of all times – would kill me.

“What side are you on?” I asked.

“Yours.  Yours and Duo’s.”  He reached for the rolodex on his desk and flicked through the cards.  Plucking one from the accordion-like assortment, he held it out to me.  “This man is good.  He will help you.  For a fair price.  Which I will help you pay if necessary.”

I glanced at the business card.  It read simply: _Howard Smith, private pilot and specialist, call to make arrangements_

I didn’t know what to say.

“Not all fey are like that sellout Winner,” he said and, with those few words, he answered at least a dozen of my questions.

“I understand.”  OK, maybe not totally, but holy shit I was sure as hell starting to.

It’d been a while since I’d been behind the wheel of a car, so I drove like an old man cruising for a restroom, but it was faster than walking, running, or taking public transportation.  I parked in front of our building and rushed up the stairs.

“Trowa!” I called, slamming into the living room.  He was curled up against the wall, surrounded by plants, sitting perfectly still and the sight was somehow more worrying than if he’d been rocking back and forth keening.  “Tro-bro.  Hey.  It’s Solo.”

“I know who you are.”

Thank God he wasn’t using that fucking God of Genesis voice anymore.  “Good.  Is anything missing?”

“Duo.”

“Aside from Duo.”

He blinked at me.

“C’mon.  Get up.  Let’s check.  If anything is missing, it might give us an idea as to where he’s gone.”

I held out a hand to help him up, but he hesitated to take it.  Our grandfather’s notebook hadn’t shed much light on the inner workings of the fey mind.  Mostly, it had told cautionary tales about humans who had made bargains with the fey and lived (but in most cases, _died)_ regretting it.  There’d been some speculation about unions of dells and that they were somehow magically connected despite the physical distance and obstacles – such as mountains and oceans – between them, but I had no way of guessing what could be going on inside Trowa’s head.

He avoided my palm and fingers, grabbing my wrist with both hands and pulling himself to his feet.  Weird, but whatever.

“I’ll check the bathroom while you look in the bedroom.  His clothes, his backpack, if he’s got a secret stash of cash or whatever.  Anything that’s missing, let me know.  If you’re not sure, let me know, too.”

He nodded and we got to it.  All of Duo’s shit was still scattered around the bathroom, mixed in with mine and the couple of fancy organic herbal items that Trowa used.  The cupboards hadn’t been ransacked for first aid supplies.  In the kitchen, everything was in its place.  We still had a full box of granola bars and the jar of jerky hadn’t been touched.

“Tro?  Whacha got, bro?”  I poked my head in their room, but he wasn’t there.  To my surprise, I found him in my room, staring into the contents of a box that I normally kept on the top shelf of my closet.  “What are you—”

“He did not take important things with him,” Trowa informed me, sounding defeated.  Worried.  Scared.

I glanced down at the photo album resting inside the box and a chill went through me.  Jesus Christ.  He’d showed Trowa these things?  After I’d told Duo where I kept them, he hadn’t even acknowledged their existence to me, his own brother.

When I looked up at Trowa, it hit me that I was looking at my little brother’s husband.  They really were married.  And not for the sake of convenience.  This wasn’t about being able to have your fuck toy on hand.  Although, to be fair, I knew Duo would never be so shallow.  Duo was all heart.  What had worried me was Trowa’s perspective – did he value my brother beyond the bedroom?

Yes.  He did.  It was right here in front of my face.  I couldn’t tell you exactly what it was about the sight of a young fey cradling a box of his husband’s most precious possessions that convinced me of Trowa’s sincerity.  Maybe it was the way his shoulders hunched or the fear in his expression that his bangs couldn’t quite hide. 

Or maybe it was the fact that Trowa was sure that Duo wouldn’t leave without telling him or me or, failing that, taking a keepsake from his past with him.  I was sure of the same thing and I loved Duo.  I _knew_ him – knew him deep down.  If both Trowa and myself were having the same thoughts and fears, it was possible – more than possible – that he was capable of that kind of attachment.

“C’mon, Tro-bro.”  I took the box from him and put it back in the closet.

“Where?”

“Back to the scene of the crime,” I said.  “Let’s roll.”

He started for the door but paused when I hesitated.  A business card that I’d abandoned on the top of my dresser had caught my eye.  The top of the dresser was no-man’s land—halfway between an honored place in my billfold and the bottom of the trash can.  For the past month I’d been wondering where this particular business card belonged. 

I thought about it for all of five seconds before I reached over and scooped it up.  We needed answers; the more sources of information we had, the better.

We drove Master O’s little piece of clunker crap down the street to the café where Duo worked.  The street parking was full out front, so I pulled around the corner and made a half-assed attempt at parallel parking that resulted in me blocking in a fat-ass, gorgeous SUV monster.  Fuck it—we’d only be a few minutes.

Trowa was outta the car before me, charging around the corner and into the café.

“I’m sorry, love,” a middle-aged woman behind the foam machine was telling Trowa as I caught up, “I still haven’t seen him.”

“Where was he the last time you saw him?” I asked.

She nodded over her shoulder.  “He was taking out the trash just through there.”

“To the dumpster in the alley?”

“That’s right.”  She paused, her eyes going wide.  “You don’t think he—”

“We’re not thinking anything right now,” I warned her.  The last thing Trowa needed was to start imagining all the ways humans could hurt each other out of desperation or just for the sake of violence.  At least fey normally had the motive of enlightened self-interest.  Or revenge.  On second thought, maybe the possibility of it being a random mugging was more comforting.

I said, “We’ll check it out.”

This time, I was out the door before Trowa and jogging around to the alley.  He grimaced at the smell, which, to be honest, wasn’t the best in the hot afternoon sun on this humid, summer day.  There were all of three dumpsters, one for each of the businesses in the building.  I checked them all.  Trowa shadowed me, his hands fisted tightly.

He didn’t ask _why_ I was looking inside the dumpsters, though, and as thankful as I was that I wouldn’t have to explain, I was infuriated that he’d made the leap.  Another reason for why that shy, youthful smile of his that I’d glimpsed only when Duo was around might not make a re-appearance for longer and longer stretches of time.

I dug my phone out of my pocket.  This was the last resort.  If his stuff was out here, we’d find it.  Dumpster dive for it.  Hope we didn’t find a body next to it.

I dialed.

Lifted the phone to my ear.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Maybe he was blocking my calls.  Or he’d shut off the ringtone for my number.  Hotheaded little shit.

I hung up.  “You try to call him,” I told Trowa.

He did.

I wandered along the alley, tilting my ear toward every possible hiding place.  I was just about to tell Trowa to hang up when I heard something.  A strain of sound coming from the end of the alley.  The light was red, so no cars were cruising past.  The street was as quiet as it could be on a weekday afternoon.  I jogged out of the alley and found myself looking into the passenger’s side window of the fucking fancy SUV.

Something was glowing in the foot well.

I tried to angle my face to see what it was—to be sure—could it be—?

I startled when I felt the door open.  Trowa’s tattooed fingers were gripping the handle.  Fuck.  I’d assumed the car was locked.  Trowa, on the other hand, hadn’t.

Thank God.

But in the next instant, my relief turned to sheer terror.

Trowa leaned across me and scooped up the phone.  It was Duo’s.  It continued to ring as Trowa continued to call, but no one answered.

I picked up Duo’s wallet and keys and, in the process, noticed a _second_ phone, wallet, and keys.  I opened the glovebox and pulled out a rental agreement signed just this morning by Wufei Chang.

Sonuvabitch.

“Hang up, Trowa.  He’s not gonna answer.”

When Trowa did no such thing, I looked up and just about cringed at the look on his face.  Feral.  Furious.  Frozen.

I’d never realized how human Duo made him until now.

“Trowa,” I said in a commanding tone so that there was no possible way he’d mistake me for my brother.  “Hanging up doesn’t mean giving up.”

“WHO?” he demanded.

I lifted the second phone.  “We’re about to find out.”

As I was pretty damn sure this was Wufei’s phone, and that the jerk was the most fucking stubborn routine-adhering asshole on the planet, I copied the unlocking code I’d seen him swipe over the screen time and time again back in school.  Sure enough – despite six fucking years having passed – he was still using the same damn sequence.

I called up the phone’s history and hit redial.

“Where the bloody hell are you?” a woman’s voice demanded.

I hit the speaker button and grinned.  “Why, hello, Meiran.  This is Solo Maxwell and we’re standing next to a rental car that has all of Wufei’s shit in it but no Wufei.”

Silence.

“Also, where the hell is my brother?”

She swore.  Inventively.  In Chinese.  Something I’d learned from Wufei.  I wondered who had taught whom that colorful expletive.

She replied, “With Wufei, I’d imagine.”

“And just where are you waiting for them?”

“At, ah, Hanscom Field.”

“At Hanscom,” I echoed.  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“For fuck’s sake, Solo, can we have this row later?  Wufei _and_ Duo aren’t here.  You’re using his phone so something has clearly happened to them.”

“And I’ll be blaming you for it until further notice.”

“Crack on.”

I sighed.  “How long will it take you to get to town?”

“I’ve got a bloody plane, not a car, genius.”

“Fucking hell.  Fine.  We’ll drive out there.”

“We?  You better be bringing a liverwurst sandwich with you, Maxwell.”

“You know exactly who I’m bringing, Long, and you’d better be civil.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else I won’t referee.  Have you got my cell number?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  We’ll see you in thirty minutes.  Don’t forget to wear a smile.”

“Fuck off.”

I hung up and grabbed Wufei’s shit off of the floor mat.  I checked the backseat.  Then I eyed the back hatch, noting how closely and conveniently it was located to the alley entrance.  I’d already called Chang a sonuvabitch once today.  What was my quota?  I should probably make an effort to pace myself.

But, then again, you only live once.  Present company excluded.

I glared at the length of coiled cotton clothesline rope sitting very incriminatingly on the freshly vacuumed floor of the SUV’s rear storage space.  Trowa went fucking arctic when he spotted it.

“I will kill him.”

“Get in fucking line,” I snarled, slamming the door shut.

I was tempted to leave the car open for the local crew to take advantage of but, in the end, I hit the power locks and pocketed the key.  Wufei would owe me that much bigger a debt for being such a fucking good Samaritan.

“Where are we going?” Trowa wanted to know and I had to remind myself that he wasn’t familiar with the area.  Might not be familiar with local modes of transportation, either.

I jabbed the key into the ignition of Master O’s 90s wreck-waiting-to-happen and yanked on my seatbelt.  “Gonna visit our next source.  Meiran Long is thirty minutes outside of town.  At fucking Hanscom Field.”

Trowa watched me as I scowled and swerved out into traffic. 

He gritted out, “I do not understand why a field is significant.”

“Hanscom Field is an airport.”  Trowa may have stopped breathing as that little factoid hit him, but I wasn’t sure if he really understood the implications in their entirety, so I powered on, “She teamed up with Wufei to kidnap Duo and haul him off in an airplane to God knows where.  Anywhere in America.  Do you know how fucking huge this country is?  We would never find him, Tro.  Never.”  And what if they had fake ID for Duo?  Then we were talking _the world,_ here.

“An airport.  Portal.  Yes, I see now.”  And looked five times as pissed off now that he grasped the scope of the betrayal.

“Portal?” I checked.  Might as well make an effort to figure out how his mind worked and all.  He was my brother-in-law.

“Yes.  Every dell has at least one portal.  If the master of a dell allies him or herself with another, then fey of either dell can use the portals of both.  Traveling across the land.  Like an airport?”

It sounded nothing like an airport, but to hell with it.  “Close approximation,” I allowed.  But at the mention of dells, I had to check, “You still banished?”

He nodded tightly.  “Only the masters who exiled me can rescind my banishment.”

“What are the odds of that happening?”

He tilted his head toward the car window and glared at the pedestrians that were crossing the street on our red light.  “I’m certain I could win back my place if I handed over either you or Duo or both.  As nothing less than that will suffice, the chances of me being pardoned are zero.”

“Good thing he’s your companion, then.”  And that Trowa and I had a vow to respect one another.  “Or I’d have to kill you.”

“You could try.”

I smirked.  But my next thought wiped it right off my face.  “Hey, how many fey do you figure would trade Duo for a pardon or something?”

“You met Quatre.  Nearly all aspire to his level of success.”

“Fuck.”  Maybe that was why Wufei had shown up like he had.  No warning or nuthin.’  But no, no.  That threat had always been in the background.  It was only that it’d finally occurred to me.  “Is that why you’ve been keeping such close tabs on him?”

“One reason.”

“If I asked for the others?”

He exhaled.  “They are… personal.”

I shook my head.  “Tro, I know you guys screw like mad March hares whether I’m home or not.  I’d say you’re past the point of shame.”

“I am not ashamed of anything with regards to Duo.”

“OK, so…?”

“You may not wish to know that level of detail.”

I thought about that as I turned onto the highway and prayed that the semi roaring up behind us wasn’t gonna plough right over Master O’s P.O.S. car and turn us into a smear on the pavement.  “Do you think it’ll help me understand the big picture?”

“At this point, it’s unlikely.”

I curled my fingers tighter around the steering wheel.  The poor little crap car was vibrating like it was about to explode.  I needed both hands just to keep the thing in the lane.  I was itching to run a hand through my hair, but it just wasn’t gonna happen.  Couldn’t risk it.

“Do you have any, y’know, fey way to communicate with Duo?”

He glared at me and I’m pretty sure it was just my imagination that green fire flashed through his eyes.  “Yes.  I can cause him pain.  Through my scars.”  He held up his right hand.  “I tried to warn him away from the forest of Nith.  It didn’t deter him then and I don’t see any point to using it now.”

Scars.  Holy shit.  They weren’t tattoos?  Why had Duo never mentioned this to me?  Hm.  Something to discuss later.  For sure.  I told Tro, “Good call.  Still… I thought you weren’t supposed to be able to hurt him.”

“I cannot betray him,” he corrected me.  “Duo has my complete loyalty.  However, at times, pain may be necessary in order to protect him.”

“And you would protect him?” I pressed.

“With my every life.”

Not “my _very_ life,” but “my _every_ life.”  Which just made me think of more questions.  “Would you… would he still be your companion if you, y’know… um, died and then got summoned back?”

Trowa didn’t answer right away and I focused on passing a minivan that was doing fifty-five.  The fuck.  What kind of asshole drives the speed limit on the damn highway?

Finally, Trowa said, “Duo is of magic.”

“Huh?  Oh, yeah.  He mentioned that you borrowed some of it from him to heal back in London.”

“No.  Solo, we’ve made our declaration.  It shouldn’t have worked outside of fey lands.  But it did.  He and I, we’re joined.  Magically.  The only way that could be possible is if Duo himself is magical.”

“What the hell is a declaration?”

Trowa’s eyes squeezed shut.  “An irreversible union of fey and companion.  Normally, the mortal is anchored to the core of magic through the fey, but as Duo possesses magic of his own, he is as directly connected to the nexus as I am.”

“And just how the hell did Duo get to be magical in the first place?”

“I made him that way.  When I healed him twelve years ago, I didn't withdraw the magic from him completely.  It's been within him all this time, keeping him alive.  Merging with him, I think.”

My jaw clenched.  “Trowa.”

“Yes?”

“You are totally gonna let me kick your ass for that.”

He grunted.  “I suppose it’s the least I could do.”  Another mile marker zipped past before Trowa said, “You do realize that Quatre Winner is likely involved in Duo’s disappearance.”

My hands tightened on the wheel until the muscles cramped.  Holy fuck.  Tro was right – I was willing to bet my entire collection of Marvel collector’s figures that nothing happened to Winner’s investments without him hearing about it.  Or orchestrating it.  Still, what would he gain from abducting Duo?  Or stranger yet, allowing him to be taken? 

But just because I didn’t have my little brother’s fey-blessed gift for sensing back-stabbing schemes and strategy didn’t mean I was wrong to think it.  If Winner didn’t have Duo, then he certainly had the resources to help us get him back.  So the bottom line was the same.  “We got anything to offer him in exchange for Duo?”

Trowa looked my way.  “Me.”

My stomach dropped.  Quatre Winner had expressed interest in exactly two things: acquiring the Sicarian and having Trowa lead his army to God only knows what end.  “Jesus.  Duo would absolutely kill us both.  Not happening, Tro-bro.  Put it outta your mind.  We’ll find another way.”  Any other way.

We were coming up on the Hanscom Airport exit, so further questions were put on the back burner.  I groped for my phone and called Meiran to get the hangar number and pulled up six minutes later with a squeal of rubber on concrete and a toothy grin.

“Where’s that smile, sunshine?” I jeered.

From the look on her face, I was pretty sure she would have socked me in the mouth if the car window had been rolled down any further.

“Hand over Wufei’s mobile.”

“Gimme a reason to convince Trowa not to knock you senseless.”

She leaned down and glared at him across the driver’s side.  “Bring it on, fey.”

He reached for the door handle.  I held up a hand to stop him.  He quirked a brow at me, his expression frozen.

“Ten seconds,” I negotiated.

He nodded.

I got out of the car and marched Meiran into the small hangar.  “Look, princess,” I hissed, crowding her, “you might hold court in London, but this here is America and you’ve got one very pissed off big brother and,” I gestured back toward Tro, “a verging-on-nuclear husband on your hands.  The plan for Duo.  Let’s hear it.”

“Husband?” she spat, leaning around me and grimacing in Trowa’s direction.  “What the bloody hell was he thinking?”

“Hey.  Long.  Pay the fuck attention.  What was Wufei gonna do with my little brother?”

“How the bloody hell should I know?  I’m only the bloody pilot.  He wouldn’t have even asked me to come along if he’d bothered to finish logging the hours for his license, but that’s Wufei bloody Chang.  Why actually get it done when you can study the bloody hell out of it?”

I heard the passenger car door open and then shut.  Trowa slipped through the open hangar door and brushed past my restraining arm.  “Your ten seconds have expired,” he informed me and then he was all Meiran’s problem.

To hell with it.  Maybe he’d actually make some headway with her.

“Where.  Is.  Duo?”

She met his glare and, despite the fact that Trowa had a solid six inches in height and thirty pounds of muscle on her, she didn't back down.  “I owe you nothing, creature.”

“You owe Duo,” he growled.  “Duo—who should be under my protection or, failing that, your clan’s, but he isn’t.  Your journey here alerted others to his location and value.  You are liable for anything that happens to him because of your carelessness.”

“Filth.”  She spat in his face.  Spat.  An actual loogie.

I braced for his reaction, but Trowa didn’t budge.  “You will tell us everything you know about Chang’s intentions toward my husband, or I will end every single solitary person you care for.”

Shit.  I was pretty sure he was serious.

Meiran sneered.  “What I know is that he’s better off dead than buggering you!”

Oh, fuck.

In the next instant, Trowa had her by the throat and had tossed her into the wall of the hangar.  Picked her up and hurled her like she was a damned kid’s toy.  The crash rippled along the sheet metal walls, rolling like thunder.

She landed on all fours and looked up with a grin.  “Let’s do this, you shite sack.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”  I took a step forward to intercede. 

Trowa shoved me back.  “I can’t promise not to kill you.”

“Me?” I screeched.  “What about her?”

“Her life is mine.”

And then there was nothing I could do to stop them.  Not without jumping in between them and, from years of sparring, I knew that was the worst possible thing I could do.

Meiran came at him with fists and feet.  She was, easily, twice the martial artist Wufei had ever been back in school.  I didn’t doubt she could beat me.  But the speed and skill and strategy of her attacks didn’t even make Trowa blink.  He blocked and dodged easily.  Shoved at her like he was playing a game of tag.  Grabbed her ponytail and yanked mockingly.

She drew a knife.

Trowa’s smile was terrible.  Just… terrible.

She lashed out.

He thrust his left hand into the path of the knife and the blade sliced across his palm.  He fisted the very same hand and drew it back.

One punch.  Just one punch to her belly and she was down on her knees.

I had to give her points for still keeping a hold on her knife, but her face paled, greying as I watched.

“Is that all you’ve got, monster?” she wheezed.  And then she coughed and blood splattered the concrete floor of the hangar.

“It’s all I need,” Trowa replied coldly.  “You are done.”

Her face twisted and she leaned forward, vomiting a puddle of blood that was half a pint if it was an ounce.

I rushed to her side, but didn’t have a clue what to do for her.  So I just steadied her shoulders as she wretched.  “Holy shit!  Trowa!  What the hell did you do to her!?”

He didn’t answer.  Either because it was some kind of fey secret or because the blood was supposed to be answer enough.

How the hell had this gotten so out of hand?  Meiran sucked in a rattling breath and puked up even more blood.

“What the actual fuck, Tro?  You can’t kill her!”

“She’s already dead.”  He turned away.  Flexed his left hand.  There was no sign of a wound at all.

I hadn’t seen this kind of callous disregard for human life since we’d sat down to dinner with Quatre fucking Winner.  I didn’t know what the hell had set him off, but enough was enough.

“Trowa.  Please,” I tried to reason.  “This is—this is so not cool.”

“Is this not what families do?”

“Kill people who are a pain in the ass?” I hissed.

“Protect each other,” he corrected.

“Not like this!  We need her, damn it!”

The suggestion exasperated him.  “For what end?”

“So Duo isn’t disappointed in us.”

Trowa blinked.  He looked down at Meiran.  She’d slumped onto her side and was panting shallow, gurgling breaths up at the ceiling.  I was afraid to touch her, afraid I’d only make it worse.

He sighed in capitulation.  I watched his approach and moved away when he gestured with a flick of his fingers for me to back off.

Trowa leaned over her and collected the knife from her limp fingers, tossing it nimbly aside.  He shoved her onto her back before grabbing both of her wrists in one hand and angling a shin over her thighs.  She was pinned to the cold floor.

“No,” she mouthed.  “I’d rather die.”

“You will live thanks to Duo, for of the two of us he is the only one who is merciful.  I don’t need your pathetic life, little human, but he may.”

He splayed his free hand, hovering it over her chest.  I’d never seen Trowa heal anyone before and his glowing fingertips were mesmerizing.  When they dimmed and returned to normal, Meiran twisted in his grasp.  Right, then left, then back again with increasing strength and determination.  I looked up and gaped.  The blood on her lips was gone.  Her skin was back to normal.  She looked totally fine.  Fucking furious as hell, but fine.

“Get off me.”

“What did Chang tell you about Duo?” Trowa demanded.

“Nothing!”  She clamped her lips shut.

“Very well.  I have given to you the gift of healing and, in exchange for that gift, you will perform the following services to my satisfaction.  First, when you return to your clan, you will—”

“Fuck!  Don’t!” she shouted.

Trowa arched a brow.  Waited.

She sighed out a hot, angry breath.  “A few days ago, Wufei went to Caerlaverock.  Alone.  I don’t know what he found there, but it convinced him that we had to get to Duo as soon as possible.  Had to get him away from _you._   At all costs.  Even if it meant we had to kill him.”

Though Trowa didn’t move a muscle, I sensed the spike in his tension.  To be totally honest, I was right there with him.  I walked over and scooped up Meiran’s dropped knife.  “You were gonna kill my baby brother?”

She glared at me.  “As a last resort.”

No one moved.

“That’s everything I know,” she insisted.  “Now let me up, thing.”

“Don’t,” I ordered, fingering the edge of the blade.  Trowa’s green blood smeared across my fingertips.  “Not yet or it’ll be me who kills her this time.”

“I’ve no objections,” Trowa replied and I wasn’t sure which part he was agreeing to – the part about holding her down or the bit about dealing out more hurt.  Hah.  The latter.  Of course.

But revenge would get us nowhere closer to finding Duo.

I took a deep breath, letting the pressure of it stuff all my rage and frustration into the depths of my gut.  “Looks like you’ve got two choices, Long.”

“And what might they be?”

“Either help us find Duo or enjoy the luxury of the trunk of our car.”

Through gritted teeth, she hissed, “Just a moment.  Let me think.  Hm, shall I get on with what I flew across a bloody ocean to do in the first place, or have myself a kip with the spare tire?”

Right.  Of course she had an interest in finding Duo.  Especially since Wufei was likely with him.  Duh.  Of course she was gonna cooperate.

And then stab us in the fucking back as soon as she thought she could get away with it.

“You’re riding in the backseat with Trowa,” I informed her, patting her down for any other sharp accessories she might be planning to annoy us with.

I found a second knife tucked into a sheath strapped to her ankle and her necklace wasn’t three silver chains but one long garrote.  There was a pill box in her pocket containing five capsules, each a different color.  “Don’t these look fun,” I remarked.  “We’ve got – what? – a sedative.  A little pick-me-up for when it’s do-or-die.  We’ve got something for causing blinding agony.  Death-in-capsule-form and last but not least is…?”

“Bloody love potion number 9, you fucking wanker.”

“Good to know,” I snarked back.  “God forbid you slip me that one.  Talk about a fate worse than death.”

I moved closer, intending to help Trowa wrestle her up from the concrete floor and, when I nodded that I was ready, he shifted his grip.  I caught her arm before she landed a right hook on his head.  “Long, you try anything like that again and they’ll never find your body.  DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

She stuck out her chin.  “Sod off.”

I shared a glance with Trowa.  The cold fury radiating from him only made mine burn hotter.  “Fuck it.  Let’s put her in the trunk.”

Trowa smiled.

“Just try it, Maxwell,” Meiran snarled.

“Give me one good reason not to.”

Surprisingly, it was Trowa who said, “Perhaps simple arithmetic will suffice.”

“Say what?”

“Call Sylvia Noventa.”

I blinked at him.

He elaborated with a nod toward our captive, “She’ll betray us the moment we locate Chang and Duo.  We need… how do you say…?”

“Backup?” I supplied.

“Yes.  Backup.  Call Sylvia Noventa.”

“Can we be sure both she and Heero are on our side?”

“They certainly aren’t on Chang’s.  Or Winner’s.”

That was true.  “Is this what fey do?  When things aren’t going your way, you complicate the fuck outta the situation with more players?”

“Heero can be bargained with.”

Also true.  And since the people I’d thought I could trust were out to kidnap and/or kill my brother, seeking out more reliable allies was a must.  Heero Yuy had mentioned a veritable army of resistance fighters who would come if Trowa were to call.  I wasn’t sure what that would mean for all of us in the long run, but there was no doubt that we needed help.  Cashing in on a buttload of favors from his former life had to beat going to Quatre Winner.  Hands down.

“OK.  Gonna trust your instincts on this one, Tro.”  Together, we pulled Meiran to her feet and I shoved her into his grasp so I could dig out both the business card and my phone.

“Bloody fuck, Maxwell.  I’ll cooperate,” Meiran bit out as she tried – futilely – to shrug off Trowa’s grip.

“That ship has sailed, princess,” I told her and put the call through.

The conversation was… surreal.  To put it mildly.  Sylvia seemed to know everything I said before I said it.  That wasn’t normal.  Not even close.

Or maybe I just wasn’t familiar with how manhunts for abducted little brothers usually went.  Maybe we were following a tried-and-true formula.  Or maybe we were fucking up wherever and whenever it was possible to fuck up.  Until Duo was found, how would I know?

The very thought dried up the words I intended to say, turning them to dust that coated the inside of my throat.

“Hello?  Solo?  Are you still there?”

I grunted.

“Heero and I aren’t far from Hanscom Airfield.  Can you meet us?”

“Um, ye…ah.  Fine.  Where?”

She named an exit midway back to the city.  There was a recreational park.  Picnic tables.  Canoe launch.  Normal summer family shit.

I was this close to laughing hysterically.  Instead, I asked her, “You got any handcuffs?”

“Er… I’ll check.”

“Much obliged.  See you in twenty minutes.”

“Central pavilion,” she confirmed and the dial tone beeped in my ear.

I dropped the phone back into my pocket and nodded toward the exit.  “We’re meeting Sylvia and Heero.  Not far from here.”  I stared flatly at Meiran in warning as I reminded my little brother’s husband, “Tro, gonna have to ask you not to kill her in the car.”

“I’m capable of operating the door handle and shoving her out first.”

“Cool.  Let’s rock.”

So, back on the highway.  Fizzing and vibrating under pressure.  The amazing carbonated car, the sequel.  If Duo were here, he’d be laughing his skinny ass off.

_Jesus, dumb-bro, you damn well better be OK.  Or else.  Goddamn it._

I checked the rearview mirror and smirked at Meiran.  She was sitting with arms crossed and staring straight ahead.  I swear I could see a vein pulsing in her temple as she ignored the unblinking gaze of her seatmate.  I’d never considered Trowa to be _cold,_ per se.  But then again, I usually saw him around Duo.  And then there was the agreement that Tro and I had come to from that first evening in Dumfries.  He had no reason to be hostile around either of us.

Sure, I’d seen him look stern – like when he’d faced off with that Doktor S dude in London – but I’d never thought to myself, “This guy’s fantasizing about ripping off someone’s head and drinking from the bloody stump like it’s a fucking a water fountain.”

Until now.

And the bitch of it was that I could never tell Duo any of this shit.  He wouldn’t believe me.  Wouldn’t want to.  Hell, who could blame him?

And besides, what would I say?  That Trowa had fatally wounded someone who had no compunction against hurting Duo?  Hell, even I could rationalize that.

And… now that I thought about it, it hadn’t taken much convincing for me to talk Tro outta letting her die.  I glanced in the rearview mirror again, speculating in wary silence.  Sitting behind me was a guy who’d invented at least one torture-slash-interrogation device: the feykin.  Who’s to say Trowa hadn’t anticipated my objection earlier?  Maybe he’d planned the whole thing just to put Meiran in his debt so he could get the truth outta her.  Ratting on Wufei’s plans was clearly the lesser evil in the face of a furious fey who’d looked like he was about to order Meiran to betray her own clan as payment for services rendered.

Fucking hell.

Thank God the car was shaking as badly as it was; I couldn’t tell if my hands were trembling or not.

The park was mostly deserted.  I pulled in and parked an equal distance away from the three other vehicles in the lot.

“Who are we meeting?  This Heero and Sylvia—who are they?” Meiran asked in a tone that was nearly civil.

“You’ll find out,” I retorted, not feeling the slightest bit generous.  I bullied my way out of the rusty, cranky car and opened the door for her.  Unsurprisingly, she chose to exit on my side rather than let Trowa haul her across the bench seat and through his door.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” I told her, gesturing her toward the large white pavilion with a green roof at the center of the grassy yard.  Trowa brought up the rear and I was kinda surprised that I was cool with that.  Given what the guy was capable of, I should have wanted him in my line of sight, too, right?

As dark and as cold as he could be, there was no denying the fact that I’d been right there with him at more than one point this afternoon.  We all had our limits.  I just wasn’t as familiar with mine as he was with his.

Today was turning out to be downright educational.

“Solo!  Trowa!”

I smiled and returned the enthusiastic wave of the blonde woman seated on the railing of the pavilion.  I recognized the silent figure standing beside her, glower and all.

“Sylvia.  Heero,” I greeted when we got close enough so that I wouldn’t have to shout.  “Welcome to Boston.  What the hell are you doing here?”

“Technically, we aren’t in Boston,” Heero pointed out.

“But we’ve been close by for the better part of the past month,” Sylvia admitted.  “Who is this?”

I tilted my head toward Meiran.  She gave me a fierce look.  I shrugged.  I didn’t give a damn if she introduced herself or not.  Perhaps because I was so obviously indifferent, she offered, “Meiran Long.”

“You are clan,” Heero succinctly concluded.

“And you’re fey.”  That militant gleam was back in her eyes.

I sighed.  “And somebody here had better tell us something about Duo or things are gonna go Tarantino.”

Sylvia’s lips quirked.  “I can’t say I’m a fan of his movies.”

“So let’s open up the lines of communication,” I invited.  “What can you tell us about Duo?”

“He and another man – your clansman?” Heero checked with a glance at Meiran, “were taken aboard a jet at Beverly Regional at 1515 hours.”

At 3:15 p.m., I had been uselessly calling everyone I could think of who might have seen my little brother.  Trowa had probably been communing with the fucking house plants in the living room.  Fucking hellfire.  My jaw clenched hard enough to make my molars creak.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tro’s hands fist.

“Where?” he demanded.

“The flight plan shows the destination as Weber Jones Airport.  Maine.”

Trowa looked at me over Meiran’s head.  “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, sure.  We’ll just zoom up there and pluck Duo outta miles of wilderness.  Addresses are for wimps, anyway.”  I rolled my eyes and glared at Heero.  “You gotta give us more, Yuy.”

“We have someone in the air.”  He pulled a phone out of his back pocket.  “Landing on the hour.  Once the location is confirmed, we’ll give the green light for extraction.”

“I need to be there,” Trowa insisted.

I nodded.  “That goes for me, too.”

“No.  You don’t,” Heero replied.  “Either of you.”

Trowa took a menacing step forward.

Heero merely returned his look, not the least bit concerned that he was all of three seconds away from having his throat ripped out.  “You’d be walking into a situation you know nothing about.  Blind.”

“So bring us up to speed,” I told him, glancing at my watch.  “You got eighteen minutes before your guy lands.  Plenty of time.”

Heero looked at Sylvia.  She nodded.

So he told us about Treize of the Khushrenada Dell and his big three dell master buddies: Dermail, Septum, and Tsuberov.  A power-hungry four-some that had control of no less than fourteen dells.  “Not counting the Barton Dell,” Heero summed up and then looked from the blank look on my face to the icy fury of Trowa’s. 

Heero smiled with equal parts amusement and smugness, “You didn’t know that was how Quatre won his current dell.  Quatre, your old _friend,_ told you the OZ Alliance – Treize’s forces – would be attacking Dekim of the Barton Dell.  You gathered our forces and went to watch the show… and provide a timely encore—take out the most powerful masters in one night.  But Quatre double-crossed you.  Treize escaped with Dekim, Dekim’s guardian, and you.  That was the last we saw of you until you showed up in London last month.”

I glanced at Trowa.  “This ring any bells?”

He shook his head.

“I’m not surprised,” Heero replied.  “Treize got his revenge.”

“For what?”

Heero smirked.  “A few decades ago, you took his head and mailed it to the clan for safekeeping.  Got past his then-guardian, Zechs, to do it.  Made him look like an incompetent twit.  The only master who would have him after that was Quinze of Nith.”

Trowa didn’t move.  Didn’t breathe.  I couldn’t say I was all that animated, either, as I pieced it together.  I hadn’t missed Winner’s mention of Zechs and Trowa’s enraged response.  I’d wondered, but I hadn’t asked.  Moot point now.  Here it was: Zechs was the name of the guardian that Trowa – a newly summoned and utterly ignorant fey – had approached to request permission to see the masters.  Trowa had had no way of knowing that he’d walked right into a bargain with someone who had every intention of making him pay for past embarrassments.  Exact revenge with impunity.

I hadn’t thought it was possible for me to hate the fey world more than I already did.

I told Heero, “Zechs is on the top of more than one short list.”

“He’d be flattered,” Heero replied flatly, glancing across the lawn toward the parking lot.

An arrest-me-red Dodge Viper was prowling in.  I watched it purr to a stop beside a black Jeep.  A blonde woman climbed out of the driver’s side and then rounded the car to open the passenger side door for a girl of about ten years old.  I gaped at the pair of them, staring at the girl’s short, flaming red hair.

“Tro, is that—?”

“Yes,” he answered bluntly and we braced ourselves as two of the subjects from the Barton portrait that had been prominently displayed in the grand entryway of Winner’s home made their way across the lush, green yard toward the pavilion.  “Why are they here?” Trowa demanded of Heero.

“I called them,” he replied.  “You need to hear what she has to say.”

I took a step closer to Trowa, but then paused and gave Meiran a sharp glance before checking, “How’s your kung fu, Sylvia?”

“Adequate.  But my Heero is deadly.”  She smiled sweetly at him and his lips curled into a small but pleased grin.

“Great.  Keep an eye on this one.”  Then I squared off beside my brother-in-law to meet the newcomers.

“Solo Maxwell,” the blonde woman said.  “May I present myself, Leia, and my mistress, Mariemaia.”

I tilted my head toward Trowa.  “Forgetting to include someone in the introductions, aren’t you?”

“I would if I could,” she replied.  “But you need a name for proper introductions.”

“He’s got one.”

“Yes,” Mariemaia agreed.  She turned her full attention on my brother’s husband and informed him, “I don’t know your name, Healer, but it’s not ‘Trowa.’  At least not until twelve years ago.”

I blinked.  “Say what now?”

Again, she spoke to Trowa.  “You had a name.  But no one now lives who knows what it was.  It was lost to the ages.  You were called ‘Noname’, ‘Nameless’, ‘Nanashi’, and ‘Silencer’… among others.”

Trowa’s lashes fluttered as he processed this, his green eyes flickering with something that might have been memory or strategy.  Or both.  “I am called Trowa now.”

“Yes,” Mariemaia acknowledged, stepping up into the pavilion and taking a seat on a shady bench.  She arranged her pale blue jean skirt and adjusted the silk cuffs of her cream blouse.  “You were summoned as Trowa, therefore you are Trowa now.  But twelve years ago, that name belonged to Dekim’s guardian, the general of his army, Trowa of the Barton Dell.”

“Whoa,” I breathed, glancing at Tro.  “The blonde dude in the painting?”

Trowa nodded.  “I would assume so.”

“What painting?” Mariemaia inquired eagerly.

“The Barton portrait,” Trowa supplied.  “It still hangs in the house where Winner resides.”

“Interesting,” the girl remarked, her blue eyes dancing with a vicious light.

She glanced at her guardian, who mused, “An experiment?”

“Perhaps,” Mariemaia responded before turning back to us.  “Yes, perhaps he was testing your memories.  Do you know why Quatre is called ‘Winner’?  Why he has no dell affiliation attached to his name?”

I shrugged.  I’d been calling him “Fat Cat the Wiener” in my head for the past four weeks so, no, I hadn’t wondered that.

“Quatre’s specialty is in maintaining the balance.  Every so often, humans manage to create a society with powerful potential.  Babylon.  The Nile Valley.  Alexandria.  Athens.  Rome.  Constantinople… to name a few.  Quatre, through some scheme or other, unseats the master of the corresponding dell, and then proceeds to goad the human population into devolving and destroying itself.  In this way, he has provided an invaluable service to feykind: he controls the relentless rate of human development.”

“Hold up.  Are you telling me things are in the crapper now because of that fucking choir boy?”

Her brows arched and she replied through a blinding smile.  “No.  Quatre hasn’t exerted his influence over the human world for decades now.  He doesn’t need to.  All of the old masters – the longest-lived of fey leaders – have been killed.”  Mariemaia smiled at Meiran.  “Many of their heads are in the possession of your clan.  Quatre’s doing, you know.  Some centuries ago, he started the rumor that a fey would be summoned in a weaker form if the head from its former body were preserved.”

“What are you saying?” Meiran asked sharply.

“Your clan – all of the fey hunter clans – have been deceived.  Your possession of those heads—each contains within it the memories of that fey’s previous existence.  Each and every alliance, favor, and betrayal.  All there, ready to be accessed.” 

A greedy light flashed in Mariemaia’s eyes.  “Do you have any idea how much that information is worth to a resurrected fey?  Your archive is a veritable fey bank.  Hundreds of safety deposit boxes waiting to be opened.” 

Mariemaia smiled.  “Why do you think Quatre so easily gets whatever he wants?  He is, to my knowledge, the longest-lived fey currently in existence.  With the exception of the philosophers, who generally keep to themselves.  The rest of us are denied our own memories.  Kept at a disadvantage.”

The girl giggled at Meiran’s thunderstruck expression.  “What’s the matter, huntress?  You didn’t know your people have been aiding a fey scheme all these years?”

“Why you little—!”

I grabbed for Meiran’s arm as she surged forward.  “Stand down, Long.”  And maybe because she’d already nearly died once today, she subsided.  Thank God.

“So, Silencer,” Mariemaia began again, “I’ve offered you quite a lot of information.  Including a possible source of your former memories.”

“What do you want in return?”

“I want it known that you owe me a favor.”

Trowa’s eyes narrowed.  “You want all fey, including Quatre, to fear you.  That rumor will give you the upper hand.”

She insisted, “It’s a fair price for the chance to reclaim your past.”

I looked from Trowa to the smug grin on Mariemaia’s face and I was no genius when it comes to strategy, but it seemed to me that we weren’t getting the full picture here.  I heard myself say, “That’s assuming a lot, isn’t it?”

She shrugged.  “They’re not unreasonable assumptions.”

“Tro,” I hissed in warning.

He glanced at me.  “You are correct.”  He glared at Mariemaia.  “You’ve left out quite a bit of explanation.  How was I given the name of another fey?”

Leia smothered a laugh behind her hand.  Her mistress shot her an irritated look and then Mariemaia sighed with resignation.  “Can you think of no one who would have the power to un-name and then re-make a fey?”

“The philosophers,” Heero interjected when neither Trowa nor myself could supply an answer.  “It’s rumored that there are five, each embodying a different magical property.  Together, they are a force to be reckoned with.  Luckily, they are too fundamentally different to cooperate for any length of time.”  He glanced at Trowa and amended, “Except, apparently, twelve or thirteen years ago.”

Sylvia offered, “We know that Treize has two philosophers in his alliance.  And then there’s Doktor S, whom you already met.  He works with us.  Where the other two are, no one can say.  But it’s rumored that Treize brought them together to work on a project just before you were captured and killed.”

Mariemaia explained, “In order to summon a deceased fey, you need its name.  No one knew yours.  Perhaps it was in one of the heads collected by fey hunters.  But a fey can only claim the memories of its own head, not those in another’s.  Thanks to Quatre, those heads were inaccessible.  There was no way to learn your name shy of torturing you for it.  But torturing a healer is rather pointless.”

Heero added, “Treize had tried bargaining and bribery, but you wouldn’t be turned to his cause.”

“Why not simply kill me?” Trowa demanded.

“Because your skills were too valuable to be lost to the void,” Heero answered.

“There are other healers—”

“No.  There aren’t.  Just you.”

I looked from Heero to Trowa and took a moment to let that sink in.

“Waste not, want not,” Mariemaia agreed.  “Treize gathered the philosophers and persuaded them to collaborate on finding a way to remove a fey’s name and then assign another.  It seems they succeeded—here you are in place of Dekim’s guardian whose name you were given.  Ingenious, isn’t it?  In choosing another fey general’s name… well, it’s easy to see why things might be a little confusing, yes?”

Holy shit.  I glanced at Meiran who was a mirror reflection of my own shock and anger.  The head – Trowa’s head – in the clan’s archive… the crimes indexed beneath it belonged to a different fey.  The crimes the clan accused Duo’s husband of had actually been committed by a fey general on the side of the masters.  Not my brother-in-law, a fighter for the resistance.  I had no idea if that made him one of the good guys or simply another kind of bad guy.  How many crimes against humanity had been cataloged under a being with no name at all?

“Now, Silencer,” Mariemaia began anew, “I have revealed as much as I know.  Including the fact that the head in the clan archive is woefully empty of your former identity.  All of your enemies and allies, bargains and favors – all lost.  What will you offer in exchange for my silence regarding that little fact?”

“Nothing,” Trowa replied.  “Tell whomever you like.”

She didn’t like that.  Her eyes narrowed and it was like watching Winner glare at my little brother across the dinner table all over again.

“I have provided this information in good faith.”

I snorted.  “Yeah, except the part where you tried to take advantage of him first.”

Trowa said, “I will not interfere between you and Quatre.  That is all the generosity I can give you.”

She leaned back and sighed, looking amused that Trowa had somehow sensed a rivalry there.  “Well, I suppose it’ll have to do.  And now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Mariemaia stood and Leia followed her back to the car.  I inched closer to Trowa and lowered my voice.  “I don’t get it.  Why’d she tell you all this and just walk away without more to show for it?”

“The telling itself is what she has to show for it,” Trowa replied quietly.  “The masters are my enemies.  Mariemaia expects that I’ll rejoin the resistance.”

“And chop off more heads?”

He met my sidelong gaze.  “The Sicarian,” he reminded me.  “Quatre isn’t the only one who wants it or expects it to surface soon.  My position in your family puts me within reach of it.  Given your distrust of the fey, I’m the more appealing target of negotiation and manipulation.”

“Right.”  Jesus, this was giving me a headache.  “So, how does this help Mariemaia’s position?”

Trowa shrugged one shoulder.  “It certainly doesn’t hurt.  I’m a valuable ally.”

“You?  Her ally?  You can’t be serious.  She just tried to trick you.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up into a wry grin.  “A poorly concealed one, yes.  It’s customary, Solo.  She did it to test my skills.  The fact that she was called out on it proves I’m worthy of more than a simple exchange of favors.”

“Not comforting, Tro-bro.”

He quirked a brow.  “Wasn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ.  Your sense of humor scares me shitless.”

He chuckled.

A phone rang.

Both of us turned toward Heero and all evidence of levity, however shaky, evaporated.  He answered the phone and put the call on speaker.  “Go ahead,” he invited.

“Arrived at Webster,” a woman’s voice said.  “The aircraft is not here.  They filed a new flight plan for Nova Scotia.”

“Check other flight plans,” Heero ordered.  “Look for a second, possibly a third, plane.  We need visual confirmation of the Maxwell brother.”

“Copy that.  Over and out.”

Silence descended and did a dance with the cooling breeze and lengthening shadows.  “That’s it?” I demanded.

“It’s a start,” Heero told us, looking Trowa squarely in the eye.  “We know the plane is Treize’s.  We have witnesses that place Duo and a clansman near it.”

“You are a moron,” Trowa scolded him through gritted teeth.  “Following the trail will lead us into a trap.”

“That is why Hilde isn’t our only operative out there.”  He swiped at his phone’s screen, leaning a hip against Sylvia’s leg where she still sat on the railing of the pavilion.  “This came through as Mariemaia was leaving.”  He angled the phone toward us so we could see the text.

_Bennetts Airport, NY.  Une with six guards.  Two unidentified passengers.  Visual confirmation pending._

“Une,” I read aloud.  “Not the detective from London?”

“The very same,” Heero confirmed.

“She works for Treize?”

Heero gave me a look.  “His current guardian.”

“Fuck.  So, Treize has Duo,” I summed up.

Trowa nodded once.  “So it seems.”

There was something in the icy tone of his voice that clued me in to the fact that I was missing something here.  “And?”

Heero reminded me, “Treize also has two philosophers.”

“The guys who fucked with your head?” I asked Tro and again I got a single nod.

Jesus Christ.  We had to go—had to get there—had to be there.  Like, _now._

“Bennetts Airport.  Does Treize – or one of his buddies – have a place nearby?”

“Lake George,” Heero replied.  “Closest residence, human-side.”

“You got an address?”

Heero smirked.  “I do.  You got a plane and pilot?”

I smirked and turned toward Meiran.  “I do.”

She opened her mouth.

“You wanna get Wufei outta this mess alive or not?” I challenged before she could object to letting fey onto _her_ aircraft.

“Fine,” she bit out, but I knew she wasn’t nearly as pissed off as she wanted me to think.  She’d gathered more intel on the fey at this meeting than the entire clan had managed in the past decade, probably.  Wufei, when rescued, would contribute even more.  While she hadn’t had a problem with killing Duo, Wufei was too valuable to lose.  She couldn’t _not_ help us.

So.  Back to the airport.  I eyed the car and sighed.  This little adventure was turning into a regular trilogy of wheel tread and engine smoke.  Glory be.

Heero slid his phone into his pocket and reached out his hands to help Sylvia down from her perch.  I doubted that she needed the assistance, and since fey didn’t seem to have much in the way of courtly manners, the gesture was more for Heero’s sake than for hers.  Her fingertips brushed over the inside of his wrists and she smiled.  He damn near blushed.

Christ.  At least Duo and Tro weren’t that sickeningly sweet together.

Sylvia pulled the car keys from Heero’s front jean pocket and… yup.  That was definitely a blush.  The poor bastard.

She called out, “Who’s got shotgun?”

“Shotgun!” Meiran just about shouted and I couldn’t have given a fuck.  Trowa and I needed to confer anyway.  Both ladies headed down the pavilion steps.  Trowa put out an arm to stop Heero from following right behind them.

“My past is gone,” Trowa reminded him.  “The head—in the archive—the philosophers would have taken every memory.”

“Most skills can be relearned and the past can be explained,” the other fey said in response to Trowa’s hard stare.  “You are a healer.  That hasn’t changed.  And that’s why I – and many others – have sworn an oath to you.  To fight at your command.  We will retrieve your companion and this you _will_ remember.”

Trowa nodded and lowered his arm.

As Heero headed after Sylvia and Meiran, I stepped up beside my brother-in-law and blew out a gusty breath.  “So, just how deep are we in it, Tro-bro?”

“Up to our eyebrows, Solo.”

I snorted.  “Good to know.”

He moved toward the steps and I put a hand on his shoulder.  “Hey.  Were you really gonna kill Meiran back there or was it all part of the con to get her to talk?”

Trowa glanced at me.  “You really wish to know?”

Good point.  “OK.  Maybe not.  Jesus.  But, Tro, back in Chinatown, in the archive—when Wufei said you planned all this, your death included—I gotta know: is there any part of this that’s premeditated?  Did you know about the Sicarian or the Maxwells before you met Duo?”

He frowned.

I hurried to add, “I’m not gonna assume that whatever motivated you then is still motivating you now, OK?  I just need the truth.”

“I have pledged my truth to Duo,” he told me, “and for his sake, I will share it with you.”

I nodded and braced myself.

“The first I’d heard of the Sicarian was in your presence when Chang spoke of it.  And Duo told me – that day in the forest when we first met – that he was a Maxwell.  A quarter Maxwell.  The name meant nothing to me.”

Sweet Jesus what a relief.

“However—” The look Trowa gave me was fierce and challenging. “—you may assume that my motivations are unchanged from that day.  I have only ever wanted Duo.  Just Duo.”

The ever-present knot of tension in my chest didn’t loosen.  Nope.  The fucking thing retied itself.  Stronger than before.  Strong enough to hold me together even if Master O’s little shitster car rattled apart right under my ass.

“All right, then.  Let’s go bring him home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments would mean the absolute world to me. I dearly hope to hear from you. (^_^)


	3. The Sicarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The abductor becomes the abducted. Wufei's trip to America is not turning out how he'd planned... but he is not complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wufei POV
> 
> Warnings: Gore, more Duo cursing, and more gore... as well as other disturbing things, I guess

I was accustomed to frustration.  Academic pursuits often reveal incomplete sources and broad license taken by historians.  I was accustomed to disappointment as well for the aforementioned reasons.  I was accustomed to back muscles made stiff from long hours spent hunched over ancient texts and eyes that were too tired to focus.  I was accustomed to waking up in hardwood chairs with the partial imprint of a book cover and the frame of my reading glasses pressed into the side of my face.

What I was unaccustomed to was regaining consciousness at unfamiliar dining tables under the watchful and calculating gaze of a fey.  A fey that I recognized no less.

I blinked, sitting up slowly.  The creature wearing a smart navy suit and wide, silk necktie waggled his fingers at me, offering a smile that might have been charming on a human.

I was in the presence of Treize of the Khushrenada Dell.  Of that much I was certain.  I resisted the urge to rub my swollen but unbound wrists and roll my bruised shoulder as I scanned my surroundings.  At first glance, I appeared to be within some sort of fortress.  Late Dark Ages.

But, no.  This place was wrong.  I scanned what I could see from my seat in the dining hall.  The quarried stones set into the floor were too precise: flat surfaces and tight corners.  The walls were the same.  The wrought iron chandelier above the long, unscratched surface of the table was electric, but the wiring was professionally concealed.

From this single, windowless room, I could infer that we had not left North America.  This was no more an Old World castle than I was a king; what would be the point of replicating a Medieval fortress when there were plenty available throughout Europe for remodeling at reasonable rates?

Having completed my survey of the room, I allowed my gaze to rest upon the plastic bottle of water placed upon the table within my reach.  It was still cold; the condensation had only just begun to collect into droplets.  I doubted that my dry mouth was capable of speech and it seemed that conversation was on my captor’s agenda.

I was tempted to refuse on principle, but nothing is gained if no venture is taken.

I reached for the bottle, tilted and tipped it to ensure that it hadn’t been tampered with, cracked open the previously unscrewed cap, and took a series of carefully measured sips.

“Wufei Chang,” my watcher drawled and then chuckled warmly.  “I apologize.  Chang Wufei.  There.  That’s the proper way to address a young man of your lineage, is it not?”

I did not respond.  It was no matter of moment to me how he chose to address me.

Instead, I weighed the strategic advantages of demanding to see Duo Maxwell.

In the end, I decided that in not asking, I would only amuse my abductor as he took my hesitance for cowardice.  I was no coward.

I cleared my throat before I spoke.  “I would like to see and speak with Duo Maxwell.”

One ginger brow quirked.  His lips twitched.  “Yes, I imagine you would.  I suppose it was silly to hope you might be satisfied with being entertained by me instead.”

“Entertainment,” I replied, carefully measuring out each word, “usually consists of conversation or activity.  Not being the recipient of a stare.”

Treize leaned his chin against his fisted hand and grinned.  “Goodness, you are correct.  Where are my manners?  One might think I’d lost my head.”

“Best of luck in locating it.”

“Why, thank you.”  He grinned, the hint of dimples forming on his smooth cheeks.  “Well, in the meantime, I suppose we might look in on your intended victim.”

“As opposed to your actual hostage?”

He chuckled.  “Don’t be a sore loser, Mr. Chang.  It’s unattractive.”

Ah, but he was assuming that the game was over.  It wasn’t.  Not at all.  I could not have asked for a better opportunity for the Sicarian to be revealed.

“If you’ll accompany me?” Treize invited with a sweeping gesture.

I stood and, moving neither with haste nor hesitance, headed toward the indicated door, which was the only entrance or exit that I could recognize in the room.  It opened into a hall that was lined with military artifacts and mementos.  In one of the pristinely clean glass cases was a collection of what I recognized as ancient armor and weapons.  The centerpiece was a feykin blade.  The spilled green blood had long since turned black at the carved hilt.  I paused and took a moment to appreciate what Solo Maxwell had shared with me about the perplexing knife.  For generations, the clan had been ignorant of the blade's intended purpose: the torture of fey.  Now we knew.

“The blood has sentimental value?” I inquired dryly.

Treize hummed with satisfaction.  “Indeed.  The blood of a healer.  The rarest substance on earth.”

Which prompted my next question: “And this feykin belonged to…?”

“The blood and the blade belonged to the same fey.  I believe you’re acquainted?  He is called Trowa.”

Yes, I had met his most recent incarnation.  I also knew precisely where the head of his former body was kept, but it made little to no sense that Treize had been the one to provide the information that had led to the acquisition of it.  Unless the fey – a healer, interestingly enough – had been a threat to him?  Unhappily, I acknowledged that I may have been hasty in my dealings with Maxwell’s fey.  The stories alone had informed my opinion of him.

I’d been too young to go on the hunt, but I could still recall the clan’s elation at their success.  The head of Trowa, the fey general of the Barton Dell.  The last great coup before _that_ had been the acquisition of Treize’s head, well before my time.  According to the archives, a mysterious telegram had led to that victory: the address of a small, rural post office and a parcel containing the head of the most powerful fey master known to hunters.  The signature on the telegram had been simply and frustratingly, “Silencer.”

“Would you care for a tour?” Treize inquired solicitously and I turned away from the display.

“I believe you were taking me to see and speak with Duo Maxwell.”

“Indeed I was.  This way.”

We descended a set of winding, stone stairs and entered a claustrophobically small and windowless landing.  There was a single, wooden door.  Treize knocked twice and a moment later, it was opened by an old male fey who glared at Treize over his long, skinny nose.

“We told you we’d notify you when we were ready.”

“Yes, you did, my dear professor.  Maxwell has a visitor.”  Treize stepped aside and the professor’s gaze moved to me.

“Ah.  Leverage.  Excellent.  Bring him in.”

 _Leverage?_ I was careful to ensure that my expression remained unmoved as I entered the room.  The low, stone ceiling pressed downward oppressively as if demanding that I bow my head, but it was merely an illusion meant to intimidate and unsettle guests.  A common feature of dungeons.

I turned toward the chair at the center of the spartan room and the figure seated upon it.  Duo Maxwell stared at me with eyes dark and wide in his pale face.  Beside him stood a second old male fey whose sharp-toothed smile was somehow reflected in the mirrored lenses of his goggles.

“What’s this now?” he inquired excitedly.  “Are we postponing the bloodletting?”

“Perhaps,” the professor mused.

“I’d like a moment to speak with Maxwell in private,” I dared.

“I’m afraid we cannot accommodate that request in its totality,” the one with the goggles said, clicking the three fingers of his metal prosthesis together in thought.  “But you may have a word while I confer with my associate.”

“That is acceptable.”  I approached the chair.  “What have they done to you?” I interrogated him quietly, noting the number and placement of electrodes on his face and neck.

Maxwell let out a shaky breath.  “Just questions so far.  Jesus, Chang.  You’ve got amazing timing.  They were about to—”  He swallowed thickly.

“Yes, I noticed the scalpel.  They wouldn’t have killed you.”

“That’s not exactly a comforting thought.”

I agreed.

“Look, you gotta find a way outta here, man.  Tell Solo and Tro to hide.  Once they’re done with me—I mean, once things get, um, gory, it’s gonna be real obvious real quick that I’m not the Maxwell they're looking for.”

There were several objections I could have made in response to that.  First, Solo Maxwell would skin me alive if I abandoned his little brother.  Second, though it might just be possible for me to get past the three fey blocking the exit, I doubted I’d be able to make it past Une and her forces which were undoubtedly stationed between here and the exit.  Third, as for having captured the wrong Maxwell—

“Make the call.  Invite the others,” the professor said.  “We feel we’re close to success.  Just a few more stressors – as discussed – and we should see results.”

“Excellent!” Treize praised them.  “I’ll notify everyone.  Don’t start without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Goggles promised, still grinning.

Treize turned toward the exit, but then paused and inquired thoughtfully, “Mr. Chang, would you prefer to wait in the dining room?”

I shook my head.  “Perhaps I can be of assistance here.”

“Indeed you can,” the professor barked and shooed Treize out of the room.  The heavy door slammed shut and I heard the grind of a metal lock clicking and scraping closed.  I was now as much a prisoner as the younger Maxwell, who shook his head on a gusty sigh of profound disappointment.

“You’re clan, if I’m not mistaken,” the be-goggled male fey said.

“Chang.”  I neither bowed nor extended my hand.

“A pleasure.  Doctor J,” he gestured to himself with the gleaming scalpel and then to his accomplice, “Professor G,” who grunted.  J continued, “You’ve rather fortuitously come upon a momentous event.”

“Once in lifetime, as you humans say,” G concurred.

“The Sicarian,” I summarized.

“Why, yes.  How did you discern that the younger Mr. Maxwell would lead you to it?”

I countered, “How did you know I’d made the discovery?”

“Hmm.”  G glanced at Duo Maxwell and mused, “I suppose it would surprise you to learn that Quatre Winner revealed your location to us.”

“That information as well as the fact that the clan was coming for you,” J added, also speaking to Maxwell.

“Sorry to disappoint you guys, but nothing could surprise me at this point.”

“Including the fact that your consort isn’t the real Trowa of the Barton Dell?” the professor checked.

I scowled.

Maxwell coughed out, “Say what?”

“One of our most successful – if incomplete – collaborations,” J boasted.  “Re-naming the healer made it possible for him to be summoned after his death.”

“Looks like Quinze beat Treize to that, though,” G remarked.

“But things are back on track now that we know his location.”

“Certainly.  I wasn’t criticizing.”

“Of course you weren’t.”

“Excuse me,” Maxwell spoke up, “but if he’s not Trowa Barton, then what the actual hell?”

Both the professor and the doctor stared at Maxwell for a long moment.

“He would like you to explain,” I translated.

“Ah!  Yes, we can do that; you see, no one knew the healer’s name.  He’d kept it a secret for… well… must have been a few millennia, yes?”

“At the very least,” G said.

“And as he is the only healer we know of, it’d be rather a waste to kill him.”

Maxwell said slowly, “Because you can’t summon a dead fey without his name?  What would happen to him, then?”

“The void.”

“Where the original and very bothersome Trowa Barton now exists for the remainder of eternity.”

“Along with Dekim.”  G admitted, “We had to test the un-naming process first.”

“Naturally,” Maxwell agreed weakly.  “So you guys just… erased his – the healer’s – entire identity.”

“Blank as an empty page.”

“Clean slate.  Not that he appreciated our efforts.”

J jerked with what turned out to be a sudden recollection: “How many times did he nearly manage to kill himself before we finished?”

“I counted a dozen.”

“Really?  I’d thought it was more.”

G shrugged indifferently.

“Well, regardless.  We un-named the first Trowa Barton, dispatched him to the void, and re-made your consort with his name.”

“The memories should have made the transfer as well,” G grouched.

“Perhaps they did.  We still haven’t located his head.”

“Sorry again,” Maxwell interrupted, speaking through gritted teeth, “but you skipped a step in there somewhere.  How come he lost his head in the first place?”

“He escaped.”

“No, he was taken.”

“Can we agree that he was no longer on the premises?”

“Yes.  I believe the clan had something to do with his demise?”

When they turned their attention toward me, I informed them with complete honesty, “I wasn’t there.”

G smirked.  J chuckled through his smile.

“It was Quatre Winner,” Duo declared, surprising me.  I had not spoken of my suspicions to Treize; it would have been futile.  I knew as well as any of the clan what could be expected of a fey.  Certainly not the truth.  It was unlikely I could believe the philosophers, either.  But I had to acknowledge the fact that we did not have independent corroboration that the head labeled “Trowa of the Barton Dell” was in fact his.

J retorted, “Winner?  Are you sure?”

Maxwell shrugged.  “As sure as anyone can be of the slippery scumbag.”

“Yes, you’ve clearly met him,” G surmised.

“In person,” J clarified.

“I’m not sure if that makes him a step up or down from you jerks,” Maxwell continued, eyeing the doctor and professor.

G rolled his eyes.  “You humans and your pointless moral value judgements.”

“They can’t help it,” J said in a patient tone.

The professor accepted the reminder gracefully.

“And _you_ can’t help fucking around with people’s minds,” Maxwell choked out, his voice hoarse with fury.

“It’s what we do.”

“Are all philosophers as big of assholes as you two?” he challenged.

“I’m sure you’ll draw your own conclusions should you one day meet them.”

“Oh, so you’re _not_ going to kill me? That’s a fucking relief.”

“Didn’t we mention that at the onset?”

“No, J.  You forgot.  Again.”

He chuckled.  “So did you; _you_ didn’t remind me.”

“Let’s just get on with it, shall we?  The masters will be arriving momentarily.”

“Jesus fried a fucking chicken!” Maxwell inventively swore.  “You’re both batshit crazy if you really think I’m gonna pull some kind of fucking legendary blade outta my ass.”

“We doubt it will emerge from that orifice, rest assured,” G retorted dryly. 

“Oh, I am.  So assured.  Thanks.”

J beamed at his counterpart.  “G, your manners must be improving.”

“Maxwell was being sarcastic, Doctor J.”

“As was I, Professor G.  As was I.”

G glared at J, who grinned and tapped his metal fingers together.  “Now, we’ll just—”

The locking mechanism on the door grated harshly, interrupting the doctor’s forthcoming proposal.  The heavy door opened and a fey I’d never seen before stepped inside, leaving the door open behind him.  He was tall with pale eyes and hair, the latter of which fell past the shoulders of his pristine, grey suit jacket.

“Pardon the intrusion, philosophers,” he said, “but I was told of Treize’s very special guest.  I’d very much like to make his acquaintance.”

“Like you made his consort’s acquaintance?” G retorted with a derisive sniff.

“It’s so like you to want a matching set of nodes on your belt,” J chuckled.

“It’s _notches_ not _nodes,”_ Maxwell muttered, echoing my own thoughts.

The remark was ignored.

“Duo Maxwell,” the well-dressed new arrival said with a grin.  “I am Zechs.  I don’t suppose your consort has spoken of me?”

Maxwell drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair to which he was still bound as he accessed his memories.

“Zechs?  Why, yes!  I have heard of you.”  He grinned with delight.  “I was starting to think I’d never have the pleasure.  Doc?  Can you unbuckle my right arm?  I want to shake the hand of the fey who taught my consort everything he knows.”

J glanced at G, who shrugged.  “What’s the harm?”

I remained right where I was standing on Duo’s left side as the old fey doctor released the restraint.  The moment he was free, Duo extended his hand.

Zechs stepped forward and offered his.  “Congratulations on acquiring him,” the creature said.  “I’m so glad he pleases you.”

Their hands clasped.

“So obedient and such a quick learner,” the fey reminisced.

Duo’s grip tightened.  “Thanks to you.”

Where Maxwell got the strength from, I did not know; in the blink of an eye, Zechs was falling toward him.  Maxwell struck with the speed of a snake, wrapping his fingers around Zechs’ throat and digging in until green blood poured over the digits.  Zechs lunged for Maxwell’s face with sharp fingertips, but I was right there, readily grabbing his wrists and pulling the creature’s hands away.

I heard a soft snarl: “You will die for what you did to my husband, you sick fuck.”

His fingers gouged deeper into the fey’s throat.  Maxwell’s smile was terrible and vicious.  The tendons in his hand stood out in relief and the muscles along his bare forearm corded.  He had no leverage to speak of, but I did not doubt that it would only take one wrench of his arm to tear out the fey’s esophagus.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Zechs choked, his eyes widening with even more alarm.  His mouth opened and in the place of green blood, ash poured out.  His teeth turned coppery brown and then crumbled.  His ears shriveled and fell inward.  I watched in fascination and horror as the process was repeated with his eyes.  The skin of his face became leathery and then the top of his skull collapsed.  Where the brain should have been, it was hollow.

With a cry of disgust, Maxwell shoved the corpse away from him, shrinking back into the chair to which he was still bound.  I released the withering hands from my grasp and watched the body fall and fracture.  Skin and muscle and bone broke and scattered like a toppled sandcastle.  Turned to powder and dusted the floor.  Only the creature’s clothing remained.

For a moment, no one spoke.  No one moved.

And then Duo was panting – panicking – tearing at the restraint on his left wrist.  I crouched to unbind his legs.

“Hmm,” Doctor J mused, grinning at the remains of the fey.  “I’d wondered if you were familiar with Zechs’ former, ah, arrangement with your consort.  G, how’s the data?”

“As we’d hoped; all that was needed was the right combination of stressors,” the professor confirmed, looking up with a scowl when Duo tore the electrodes off of his skin.

“Interesting that it wasn’t fear,” J remarked.

Duo lunged out of the chair.

G objected, “Mr. Maxwell, we haven’t concluded our analysis yet.  Retake your seat.”

“Make me,” he snarled.

J sighed.  “Don’t be difficult.”

“Too fucking late.”

Indeed it was.  It was too late for any fey who dared to lay a hand on Duo Maxwell.

As expected, though the door was ajar and the cramped landing deserted, once we reached the upper floor, we encountered the full strength of Treize’s security force.  On the top step, Maxwell and I braced ourselves.  I had very little hope that he’d be able to take down even one of the six human guards that Une had employed, but there was no other option but to try.

I shifted my stance and waited for the attack.  Beside me, Maxwell mirrored my movements with passable competency.  Meiran was an adequate teacher when she put her mind to it.

The female fey regarded us with a blank expression.  “It is done, then,” she observed, appearing neither pleased nor displeased by events.  “Hold them in the study.  I will inform Master Treize.”

“We are under orders to sedate you if you do not comply,” one of the muscled morons announced.

“Fair enough,” Maxwell replied.  “But you should know – we’ll take it personally.”

If they had seen what Maxwell had done to the last individual to offend him, they would have been more impressed.  Well, let them underestimate him.  And underestimate me while they were at it.

The study was fully stocked with tomes on three walls.  The fourth was an expanse of windows overlooking a steep, forested hillside and a lake sparkling in the light of the distant sunset.  I could not see another structure or landmark from here.  When I moved closer to the windows, three of our watchers blocked my path.  I pivoted smartly on my heel and nearly smacked into Maxwell, my silent shadow.

My gaze moved over his drawn features.  His lips were tightly compressed and his brow drawn low.  His jaw clenched and I may have heard his molars creak under the pressure.  But it was his eyes that nearly shook my hard-won composure.

I knew for a fact that his eyes were a shade darker than his older brother’s: a blue that I’d spent nearly every day of my six years of schooling in Boston glaring at in response to one irritation or other.  Was I imagining the silvery sheen that obscured Duo Maxwell’s irises, causing his eyes to mirror the rosy light of the sunset?

“Did I kill him?” he asked.  The words sounded as if he’d squeezed them up through his throat, wringing his own neck like it was a shroud soaked in blood.

“The fey?”

“Zechs.  Yes.  Is he gone?”

“Utterly.”

His lashes drifted down and his lips quirked into a smile.  “I’d be happy about that except I’m pretty sure I just fucked myself over.”

“The future is what you make of it,” I replied.  “But that was an adequate _Bi Qi_ strike.”

He flexed green-blood-stained fingers.  There was ash caked beneath his short fingernails.  “Yeah?  Dunno what that is, but thanks.”

I blew out a breath in exasperation.  Americans: they watched a single Bruce Lee movie and believed they were suddenly experts on the art of war.

“By the way, what the hell just happened down there?”

Giving him a sideways look, I informed him, “The Sicarian happened.”

“The—huh?”

I didn’t repeat myself.  He’d heard me.  He wasn’t ready to believe it, which was unfortunate, but it wouldn’t make any difference in the end.

The door to the study opened and the female fey entered.  She smiled hospitably at us and I was instantly on my guard.  “Gentlemen, join me on the balcony.  It’s a lovely evening.”

“Is attendance mandatory?” Maxwell demanded as we were crowded toward the sliding doors.

Apparently, it was.  I followed him outside, glimpsed the sheer cliff beneath us, and turned toward the fey.  Again, I readied myself for anything.

Except what she said next.

“The one with the braid.  Kill him.”

My heart lunged into my throat.  “No!” I barked.  “Your master will never forgive this betrayal.”

Her smile widened.  “Concerned for my wellbeing, clansman?  I’m touched.  So we’ll blame it on you.  Regardless, this mortal will no longer be a threat to any fey, most especially my Master Treize.”

Two pairs of hands grabbed my arms, holding me steady.  Two of the other guards captured Duo.  The fifth wrapped Maxwell’s braid around his fist and yanked his head back.  It would make the work of cutting his throat more difficult, but it would maximize the blood spray.  The sixth mindless brute approached with a blade drawn.  A hunting knife.  I was unsurprised to find myself positioned opposite Duo.  Unsurprised and not without a plan.

The man’s long arm reached around my head.  I looked into Duo’s silvery eyes and struck, sinking my teeth into the meat of the executioner’s bicep – even through the weave of his shirt I knew it would be excruciating – and stomped on his toes.

He howled and swore.

Une leaped forward, grabbed the knife, and I watched as the blade carved across Duo Maxwell’s throat.

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

I couldn’t have failed.

_Solo.  How can I ever—this is—just—no!_

The steel cut into Duo’s neck.  I knew I should close my eyes – shield them from the blood – but I didn’t.  Couldn’t.  Couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

There was no blood.

Not from Duo.

A warm spray gushed over my arm and fell to sprinkle Duo’s chest.  Droplets of fey green.

Une gurgled and slumped against the shoulder of the closest human minion, who shrank back.  She slipped and fell, landing on her side.  The knife clattered across the perfectly quarried stones.  The six guards gaped in horror at the gushing knife wound that divided her slender throat.  Then the gash grinned wider as the skin burned at the edges like paper caught fire.

As mesmerizing as it was to watch, I had work to do.  Before they could recover, I attacked.  I butted the back of my skull against the face of the one behind me.  The crunch I heard told me I’d broken his nose.  I ducked and used my weight to bring the two holding me into a head-cracking collision.  Their hold loosened and I dropped down.

That was when the first shot rang out.  The man on Maxwell’s right tumbled to the balcony floor, landing upon the remains of the back of his skull and the majority of his brain matter.

“Get down!” I shouted, but Maxwell was already cringing, sagging down on bent knees, attempting to make himself a smaller target.

There were six shots in total.  The sniper didn’t waste a single bullet as each immediate threat was quickly dealt with.  Six head shots.  The balcony was a slick mess of blood and bits.  I hooked a hand under Maxwell’s arm and dragged him toward the study.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he was panting.  Would have been screaming if he’d had the breath.

“Maxwell.  Look at me.”

“Jesus.  Fuck.  Just—Jesus.”

Remarkably, where immolating a fey with his mere touch hadn’t caused a breakdown, surviving sniper fire was inducing a panic attack.

“Take a deep breath.  Like this.”  I demonstrated, and then I gave his shoulders a sharp shake when he didn’t immediately comply.  “Breathe, Maxwell.  Deeply.  Good.  Exhale.  Yes.  Inhale.  Hold it.  Exhale.”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he focused on calming himself.

“Now look at me,” I commanded.

When his eyelids lifted, the faint mirror-like surface over his eyes was gone.  I returned his wide, blue-eyed stare.

I warned him, “This is not finished.”

“We’re next.”

“In a manner of speaking.  As is your brother and your fey.”

“What?”

There was no time for me to indulge in relief at his sudden ability to focus.  “The masters are here, Maxwell.  They know what you are.  We – you and I – can escape now, but they will come for us.  They will take Solo and Trowa in order to draw you in.  Do you understand?”

He swallowed thickly.  “I… what?  How do we stop them?”

“We leave no witnesses here.”

“I—oh God.”

“It is the only choice that protects them both, Maxwell, but it’s your decision.  Decide now.  Right now.  The masters will be coming to investigate those gunshots.”

For a moment, he appeared to be on the verge of vomiting, but then he gathered his composure with a visible effort.  “We need weapons.”

 _“I_ need a weapon,” I corrected him, leading the way toward the door and the hallway with its glass display cases beyond.  “You _are_ a weapon.”

“I—what?  No, man.  No.  That was—I dunno what that was but—”

“That was the Sicarian.  Which is you, Duo Maxwell.  You are the blade that destroys fey.”

“No,” he breathed, his eyes glossy with silent horror.

“Then prove me wrong,” I challenged him before pressing a finger to my lips and soundlessly easing the study door open.  I moved quickly down the hall to the case with the feykin.  Beneath it was a sword I had noticed before, one that I’d recognized.  It had been handed down through the generations.  From father to son.  From my grandfather to my father, but not to me.  I’d never held this _jian_ in my grasp.  It had been pried from my father’s cold, dead hands by the fey who had killed him: Treize of the Khushrenada Dell.

I heard the sound of approaching footsteps on the winding stone steps.  There was no time left for stealth.

“Apron!” I demanded of Maxwell, who yanked the garment off hastily.  I wrapped it around my left arm before putting my elbow through the glass.  The shards crashed against my bundled arm and fell at my feet.  I grabbed for the ancient _jian,_ shook off the apron, and unsheathed the blade just as our enemies appeared on the landing at the end of the hall.  I had time for one prayer and only one.  I said it:

_“Ancestors, guide my hands so that I do not disgrace my forefathers.”_

I drew in a deep, calming breath.

And then one of the male fey at the end of the hall – a creature with slicked-back black hair and a neat moustache – lifted a hand and pointed the barrel of a gun at my chest.  He braced himself.  I didn’t wait for the sound of the gunshot.  I ducked.  The bullet zoomed over my head.  Duo jerked.  Hissed.

But it was the fey who collapsed to his knees, a small hole in his chest that quickly began burning away his flesh, organs, and bone.  The two white-haired fey behind him looked up and at Duo Maxwell.  They drew their own pistols.  Fired.  Duo cringed and cried out, but did not fall.  The two fey sank to the floor to enjoy the same fate as their comrade.

There was only one foe remaining.  The creature who had slaughtered one generation after another of my kin was waiting for me upon the top step, smiling.  He lifted his hands and applauded.

“Well-played, Chang Wufei,” Treize congratulated me.  “I bow to your formidable skills and offer my hospitality so that you may leave of your own free will.”

My lips curved.  I was standing between him and the dawn of a new day in which all that he’d seen and learned could be applied to his schemes.  I did not move an inch.

“Duo Maxwell,” Treize continued, “please accept my admiration for your impressive talents.  I will not harm you.”

Behind me, Maxwell snorted.  “Damn straight.  You’ve already caused more than enough harm, asshole.”

Treize’s smile faded.

I took advantage of the moment and charged.  The blade of the _jian_ flashed in the dimming light.  My target twisted to the side, flattening himself against the wall of the spiral stairwell.  His cold fingers closed around my wrist.  I kicked – roundhouse to his head – before he could snap the bones.  He ducked the blow and my foot smacked against the stones, rebounding sharply and I moved with it, utilized my momentum to drag him down, flip him over me, and into the hall.

The hall, where a plethora of weapons were readily at hand.

The hall, where Duo was standing, braced for action should the fight come to him.

The hall, where either Treize or myself would die.

His hand didn’t release mine, however, and I found myself landing hard on the stone floor.  Back where I’d started: between the fey and Maxwell.

Treize rolled to his feet smoothly and reached into the shattered glass case to select a sword.  Undoubtedly a trophy from another clan.

“I suppose it was always going to come to this,” Treize mused.  “Your family and I have a tradition to uphold.”

And as I was the last of the bloodline, it would end here, one way or another.

Treize drew a lazy circle in the charged air between us with the tip of his ill-gotten sword.  “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Chang.”

I had been ready for years.  I faced my opponent.  Lowered my center of gravity.  Lifted the sword of the Chang family.  There was little room to maneuver in this hall.  I would not be able to build enough momentum to slice off his head with one strike.  Fortunately, that was not my ultimate aim.

I raced forward.  The blade in Treize’s grasp clashed against mine, knocking the attack aside.  I spun in the tight space and the _jian_ rose in an arc.  Again, he countered quickly and neatly.  As expected.

I did the unexpected.  Like a panicking novice, I brought the blade down with a wobble – as if my palms were too sweaty to hold it steady – and sliced through the sleeve of his navy jacket.  He hissed and shot backward, placing himself just beyond my reach.  The edge of the _jian_ was green.  I smiled in satisfaction.

“You have drawn first blood,” the fey informed me.  “Are you content with your victory?”

My response was simple.  I lifted the sword again, ready for a second strike.

Treize transferred his own sword to his uninjured hand.  “Very well.”

This time, he did not wait for my attack.  He lunged and I twisted aside, the tip of the blade nearly catching on my jacket.  I ducked as his wrist turned and the blade whistled over my head.  Crouching low, I sent the _jian_ into his belly.  A mortal wound for humans, but I knew it would not be enough to end a fey master.  Unless I’d managed to stab the nerve cluster for which the feykin was meant.

Given that the creature did not collapse in a heap of agony, I assumed I’d missed it.

Treize, however, would not miss his target; his sword arm was falling, aligning precisely to strike the jugular.  I did not jerk back.  I leaped forward and tucked myself up against his cold, repulsive form.  I dropped the _jian_ and reached up with both hands, linking my fingers at the back of his neck and bending down, bringing him over my shoulder, and flipping him into the space between myself and Maxwell.

His blade caught on the stone wall, scraped and clattered.  He landed, crouched on his feet facing Maxwell.  I grabbed the hilt of the fallen _jian_.

“Maxwell!” I shouted.  Our enemy had no defense against the Sicarian.  Absolutely none.  “Finish him!”

Treize froze, down on one knee, bent in supplication before the very power he’d hoped to wield for himself.  “I yield.  Please.  Show mercy.”

Maxwell… did nothing.

“Maxwell!  This is the monster who would use you against _his_ enemies.  Including your brother and your fey!”

“I know that.  I—”  His throat closed on whatever utterance he would have made.

A small motion drew my attention to Treize’s hand and the shard of glass he’d just nimbly collected from the floor.

I was of half a mind to command him to drop it, but doing so would only delay the conclusion of our encounter.  We still had the philosophers to deal with and the sniper somewhere outside.  We could not afford to draw this out.  I allowed Treize to pick up that shard of glass.  I stood down when he lunged backward and the _jian_ lodged in his shoulder.  He twisted, yanking the blade from my hand.  As it clattered to the floor, he whirled, spinning me until my back was against his chest.  His arms came around me and the glass pressed against my neck.  I was his hostage now.  I had allowed this.  For the greater good.

“Destroy him,” I gritted out at Maxwell.

“You son of a bitch,” he snarled, his eyes flashing silver.

Treize negotiated, “I’ll not harm your friend if you comply with my instructions, Mr. Maxwell.”

“Do not,” I ordered.  My death was nothing compared to the victory of obliterating Treize, master of the Khushrenada Dell.  It would be an honor.

Maxwell looked at me and then met my captor’s gaze.  “Instructions, huh?  Let’s hear ‘em.”

Though I could not see Treize’s face, I could hear his smug smile.  Satisfaction infused every word: “I must ask you to proceed to the room at the end of the hall, where you will find a set of clothing.”

Maxwell retreated carefully, keeping his eyes on Treize as he moved blindly, his arms outstretched to either side and his fingertips trailing along the walls.  Treize nudged me forward.  I complied grudgingly.  When Maxwell backed up against the indicated door, he reached back and opened it.  Stepped over the threshold.

I felt Treize nod.  “There, on the lounge.”

When Maxwell glanced in the indicated direction, I struck: grabbed Treize’s arms and swiftly kicked out a foot, catching the ornate door handle with the toe of my shoe and pulling it shut on Maxwell’s stunned expression.  Before Treize could pull me away from the surface I intended to use for leverage, my hands climbed up and grasped his shoulders.  With both feet, I pushed hard against the door.  We crashed backward onto the floor and I heard the air whoosh out of his lungs as my weight compressed his chest.  I tumbled off of him, placing myself behind him.  My jaw felt strangely both hot and cold; I knew what was soaking the collar of my jacket.

I moved quickly into a crouch, watching as Treize mirrored me.  His gaze flickered to my wound.  Mine did not leave his face.

And then the door opened.  Just as I’d known it would.

“No,” Treize denied.

But a denial would not save him now.  I rushed him, hooking my arms around his waist and toppling him backwards.

Right into the arms – the bare hands – of the Sicarian.

It happened in silence.  In Maxwell’s shock and Treize’s horror.

I watched unblinking as the creature that I’d devoted my existence to ending was reduced to coppery ash.  The flesh sifted off and organs fell like snow sliding from a sun-warmed roof, leaving only the brown bones beneath the fabric of his suit until even those turned to dust.  Without that framework to hold them up, the sagging trousers, shirt, necktie, and jacket slid into a pile at Maxwell’s feet.

Maxwell and I both stared at the remains for a long moment.  I could not speak for him, but I myself was marveling at the power Maxwell now wielded, a power that did not require skin-on-skin contact to unleash its devastating potential.  His bare hands upon Treize’s jacket had been sufficient to immolate the fey.

Our respective gazes rose in concert.

“You asshole,” Maxwell seethed.  “Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”

“You left me with no alternative.”

“So you use me like a fucking weapon?”

I startled, blinking.

“You could have run him through.  Taken his head.  Whatever,” Maxwell insisted.  “But instead you made me choose between your life or death.  You fucking shit.”

“We agreed that you would destroy them,” I reminded him.  “You already made that choice.”

“I did not agree to letting you manipulate me into it.  Treize died on your terms.  Not mine.”

I looked down at the remains once again.  I sneered.  “I did not hesitate.”

“Bullshit.  You let him pull that shit.  You gambled with your life on _my_ call.  That’s—so—you don’t get to do that, Chang.  Next time, I’ll let you fucking die.”  With that, he stepped back and slammed the door shut in my face.

“Maxwell!”

“Just fuck off for three minutes, Chang.”

“We don’t have time for this!”  I banged the door open to the sight of Maxwell stripping down to his boxer shorts as he hovered beside the lounge Treize had indicated.  I looked from him to the neatly folded clothing.  “What,” I demanded, “are you doing?”

“Getting dressed.”

“Don’t accept his hospitality.”

“Little too late for that.”  He mimed drinking and, with a chill, I realized he was correct.  I’d also accepted the offered water.  “Not sure it makes much of a difference now,” he added with a shrug, reaching for the long-sleeved black shirt and pulling it on over his head.  I turned away as he grabbed what turned out to be a pair of black trousers.  Moving toward the nearest window, I regarded the town along the lake’s edge; it twinkled in the dusk.

“How did you know?” he asked tightly.  “About me.  And the, um, Sicarian.”

“The paintings at Caerlaverock.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Did you notice the designs on the scabbard of the curved knife?”

He was silent for a long moment.  “Yeah.  I know what they look like.”

I nodded and the motion made the skin along my jaw pull against the clotting blood.  “Your fey has the same markings.  Not a coincidence.”

“So, you’re saying, what?  That he conceals the Sicarian?”

“Points one in the right direction at the very least.”  He had certainly led me to it.  Or rather, _him._

“This is so fucked up,” he sighed.

“Welcome to the world of the fey, Maxwell.”

I shrugged the shoulder of my jacket down my arm to assess the size of the bloodstain.  Large, but not overly worrying.  Still, a bandage of some sort would be a good idea until I could determine if the wound required stitches or not.  I left the room to locate the nearest toilet and helped myself to the facilities.

When I returned to the parlor, Maxwell was tying the laces on his boots.  I took in his new attire.  He was swathed in black from head to toe.  Over his hair, he’d arranged a long length of cloth into a hood.  It wrapped around his throat in an arrangement that looked like he’d be able to pull it up over his mouth and nose.

I told him, “We have to deal with the philosophers.”

He huffed out an explosive sigh.  “I know, Goddamn it.”

I waited for him to come to a decision.

“We’re gonna give them a choice,” Maxwell informed me, surprised me.

“What choice?” I demanded in irritation.

“You kill them and take their heads for your fucking archive.  I destroy them.  Or they come with us and don’t give us any bullshit about it.”

“What?”

Duo replied, “They know a lot, Chang.  Maybe how to fix me.  Make me normal again.”

“There’s no way to guarantee that anything they say is true,” I reminded him, “or that anything they do will not cause more harm than good.”

“Yeah, there is.”  He scooped up the pair of black gloves that had been provided and turned to head down the hall.  I followed and watched as he selected the feykin from the display of weapons.  He held it in his hands for a long moment.  “The clan have one of these?”

“Yes.”

He put it back.  “Then we’ll use that one.”  Turning his attention to the gloves clutched in his right hand, he pulled them on and shoved the fabric taut between each finger. “C’mon.”

Maxwell headed for the stairwell and the dungeon beneath our feet.  I stared at his braid; it was now completely concealed and tightly wrapped by the two trailing sides of the black cloth.  The ends had been tied tightly at the base.  There was not a hair or patch of skin with the exception of his face that was exposed.  I didn’t have to look back over my shoulder at the open doorway and the parlor windows beyond to know that the sun had set.  Soon, the last kiss of light would be nothing but a memory.  I contemplated the coming night and the black fabric Duo Maxwell had sheathed his abilities within.

I wondered if he truly accepted what he was now.  At least he was pragmatic enough to take whatever precautions possible in the hope that his power remain under his control.

Control.  Yes.  I’d taken that from him earlier, but it had been for a worthy cause.

Spotting the Chang _jian_ where it and its scabbard had fallen, I collected both and followed Maxwell down the steps.  The philosophers were still examining the data that they’d collected, uncaring of whatever noises they’d heard from above.

“Have you come to kill us or destroy us?” the one who called himself Professor G asked without looking up from the monitor.

“If you wouldn’t mind too much, we’d like a few more minutes to study the results,” Doctor J added.  “It’s fascinating, really.  The Sicarian.  At last.”

G looked up at Duo in the light of the monitor.  “Did you destroy the masters, Maxwell?”

“Yes.  Une, too, and the human guards are dead.”

“Very efficient,” he approved.

“And timely!” J agreed.  Turning to his associate, he cheerfully crowed, “Congratulations on the success, professor.”

“It was you who convinced Treize to keep the guest list to a minimum.”

J chuckled.  “No, no.  I merely suggested it.  His own greed prevented him from allowing his full complement to accompany him.  Or the other masters.”

“Fear of losing the upper hand.  So predictable.”

“As predictable as the need to boast to one’s cohorts.  Yes, this was a good plan,” J concluded.

“Hold up,” Maxwell interrupted tiredly.  “You wanted… this?”

“Don’t be stupid,” G snapped.  “Of course we did.”

“Ever since the wretch forced us into his service,” J concurred.  “Of course, with Treize gone, one of the others would have quickly taken his place.  So it was also necessary to deal with Septum, Tsuberov, and Dermail.”

“Zechs and Une were acceptable collateral damage.”

“Especially Zechs!  Just look at the result!” J enthused, gesturing grandly toward Maxwell.

G sighed.  “So what will you do with us now, Sicarian?”

“Don’t call me that,” Maxwell quietly, almost politely, replied.

“Would you prefer ‘Reaper’?  Or the more exotic ‘Shinigami’?” J inquired.

“I’d prefer that you choose your fate,” he answered.  “Death—”  He gestured to me and sword I still held.  “—destruction—”  He held up his hands and waggled his gloved fingers.  “—or another ‘collaboration.’”

“What sort of collaboration?” G inquired, his eyes alight with curiosity.

“Undo what you just did to me.”

The fey exchanged a look.

G sneered, “Ungrateful human.”

J sighed.  “A waste, indeed.”  Turning to Maxwell, he explained, “We might be of assistance, true, but we were not the ones who made you what you are.”

The professor explained, “Though you are human, you appear to be _of magic.”_

“And while we cannot tell you precisely how that happened, we can say with some certainty that your power has—oh, what’s the word in English—aligned, calibrated—?”

“Polarized,” G supplied.

“Yes!  Polarized itself in accordance with your mortal being.  As humans are dying from the day of their birth, the magic that passes through you becomes attuned—ah, that’s the word I was originally thinking of!—attuned to destruction and decay.”

“All we did was bring it to the surface.  So to speak,” G concluded with a smirk at his own witticism.

Maxwell glared.  “Well, bury it again.  Or shut it off.  How do I just stop it?”

“We don’t know.”

G added, “Yet.”

The muscles along Maxwell’s jaw clenched.  “If that’s the way it is, fine.  I’m making the choice for you.”

“Maxwell,” I warned him.

He ignored me.  “Grab your shit,” he told them.  “You’re coming with us.”

_Ancestors save me from gullible idiots._

“Maxwell, a word?” I gritted out between my teeth.  He took in my expression and then marched over to the open dungeon door.  The fey philosophers began sorting through their research, quibbling over what had greater priority.  “Pandora’s box has been opened,” I hissed at him.  “Even if there was a way to undo this, it would be folly.  How would you protect yourself and your family as a mere mortal?”

“The clan manages, don’t it?”

I stared at his obstinate expression.  “We are cannon fodder in an unending war.  I have lost my entire family to the fey.  No, Maxwell, we protect the cause, but we cannot protect each other.”

When he blinked, I saw the hint of fear in his eyes.

“The Sicarian will lead to a shift in all of that.  Changes no one can predict.  Do not throw this away.  You could do good yet.”

I watched him consider my words.  I didn’t expect an answer – it was too soon – so I wasn’t surprised when all I received in reply was silence.

“We have assembled our things,” G announced.

“I’d like to request a window in our next lodgings,” J piped up.

“Yes, the view in this one has been rather dull,” the professor agreed.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Maxwell muttered, eyeing their lab coats and metal briefcases.  “Let’s go.”

I led the way.  Maxwell brought up the rear.

“Hold up.  The sniper’s still out there,” he told me just as the front doors of the silent house came into sight.

“Undoubtedly, but I find it unlikely that either of us is a target.”  I glanced at the doctor and professor.

“We’ll take our chances,” G said and J nodded once.

Duo mused, “Well.  What happens if we stay here?”

I told him, “Someone from one of the dells arrives to check in on their master.”

“Right.  Duh.  So, staying here is not an option.”

“Not a long-term one, no.”

He looked past my shoulder at the door.  By the harsh frown pulling at his brow, I inferred that he wasn’t imaging freedom.  He said, “I can’t go back to Boston.”

It would be best for his brother and fey if he didn’t.

“Come with me,” I said, repeating the same demand I’d made of him little more than six hours previously.  “Perhaps we can find out more about your abilities.”

“More research is definitely required,” G insisted.

“How long are we talkin’ here, guys?” Maxwell wanted to know.

G shrugged and J grinned enthusiastically.  “Years, perhaps!”

“Jesus.”

I was unsure if Maxwell’s exasperation was aimed at Doctor J’s unabashed excitement or the prospect of the duration itself.  Both.  Undoubtedly.

He turned toward me.  “You helped me.  Back there.  The breathing exercise.”

“Yes…?”

“Maybe I can use meditation or martial arts – mental discipline – to control this.”

I somehow held back a snort.  Clearly, Maxwell had never applied himself to anything of the kind.  But he could be correct.  We could only try and see what resulted from it.  “Perhaps.”

“I’m nobody’s weapon,” he insisted, a hard look in his eyes.  “I want my life and my husband back.”

“Your husband?” I echoed.  “You—you married the fey?”

J gasped with delight.  “Ah-hah!  I told you I’d heard him correctly!”

G rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Maxwell informed me, “Yes, I did, and I’d do it again, so if you got a problem with that, then it’s your problem, got it?”

I nodded.  “I understand.”

“Excellent.”  He reached for the door handle.

“Into the crosshairs!” Doctor J announced gleefully.

But Maxwell paused with his gloved fingers on the latch.  In a subdued tone, he said over his shoulder, “Chang, I’m asking as Solo’s little brother: will you help me figure out how to control this—this whatever the hell power I’ve got?”

“Yes.”

“You swear?”

“I give you my word and solemn vow, Duo Maxwell.  If there’s a way for you to gain control over the Sicarian, I’ll do my best to help you find it.”  He would be no good to anyone if he were a loose cannon.  Besides which, this was my chance to forge an allegiance between the Sicarian and the clan.  I was not a moron; of course I would help him.  Even if it meant making it possible for him to return home to his perversion of a marriage.  The future was as wide and open as the horizon; I could not afford to limit my own view.

He turned back around and held out his hand.  I shook it.

Taking a deep breath, Maxwell swung the door open and the sudden glare of high-beam headlights had both of us lifting our hands to shield our eyes.

“G’d evenin’!” a man called and the headlights dimmed to low-beam.  “Name’s Howard.  You boys need a lift back to Boston?”

“Who sent you?” I demanded.

“Don’t matter.  This here arrangement is between me an’ him.  Y’all are the passengers, not the service rendered.”

“Yeah, well, tell ya what,” Duo replied, “you get in the back seat with a couple of buddies of mine and I’ll drive.”

“The car’s a rental, so that works for me. Got a plane at the local airport.  Ya want me to navigate or ya plannin’ to stop an’ ask for directions?”

What Duo’s plan was, we didn’t hear.  At that moment, a gunshot cracked through the night.

Maxwell and I both jumped back toward the shelter of the house as a rubbery whistle pierced the night.

“Goddamnit!” Howard swore, leaning half out of the driver’s side window to get a look at the punctured tire that was hissing air.

“Hey, Howie,” came a woman’s voice.  “Nice night for a walk, huh?”

He chuckled.  “Is that your idea of a pick-up line, Po?  ‘Cuz I’ve heard better.”

“Not directed at you,” she continued, stepping out of the shadows.  There was just enough light from the wash of the headlights to make out her figure and the rifle held both with ease and at ease in her hands.  “Stay in the car, or I’ll blow a second one, and then you really will have to hoof it down the mountain.”

Howard grumbled.

The woman took a step closer to the light.  I took in her brassy, blonde braids and military fatigues.  “Sally Po.  New York clan.”

Yes, she was.  My father had spoken highly of the Po family.  I hadn’t worked with her personally, but I could recognize every member of the clan worldwide.  One never knew where a hunt would lead and knowing who your allies were was a matter of life and death.

“Chang Wufei.  London.”

“Duo Maxwell,” he volunteered.  “No clan and keepin’ it that way.”

“Good to meet you, Wufei.  Duo.  Call me Sally.  You want me to take care of your rodent problem, there?”

She meant the philosophers.

“No,” Duo answered quickly.  “They’re with me.”

That surprised her.  “Well.  In that case, hold on a second while I deal with something.”

The rifle swung back toward Howard.  “Toss the gun, Howie.  My boys are watching.”

On cue, the driver’s side of the rental car was peppered with silent, red dots.  Eight of them.

“Damn it.”  He chucked a handgun into the backseat on a belabored sigh.  “You got this old man’s goat this time.”

“Every time.”

“You’re bad for business, Po.  When you gonna drop this monastic calling crap and come work for me?”

“Maybe when you stop taking jobs for Quatre Winner?”

He wheezed out a chuckle.  “He ain’t the only pie out there, sweetheart.”  Then he turned toward Duo and I realized that the reason why I couldn’t see much of his face was because of the sunglasses he was wearing.  “Maxwell, I’m due back in Boston.  Might be seein’ your brother an’ your consort.  Happy to pass along a message.”

A moment stretched, long and wordless, between them.  The night sounds of a forest in summer slipped out from the shadows.

“No message, thanks,” Maxwell finally said.

“Suit yourself.”

Sally Po shouldered her rifle.  “Given who he was supposed to deliver you to, you might want to consider accepting a ride from us instead.”

“On two conditions,” Maxwell countered.

Po did not appear surprised by his lack of blind faith.  “Let’s hear them.”

“First, these two fey need a safe place to continue their research and I need access to them.”

She nodded.  “I think that’s manageable.  And the second?”

“Protect my brother and consort.  I need them both to be safe and—if Quatre gets ahold of them, I—I need them to be safe,” he repeated.

“We’ll do our best.  Any friend of our sister clan is a friend of ours.”

“Even if they’re fey?”

Sally nodded.  “You keep your fey under control, and there won’t be a problem.”

If Maxwell minded that his husband was being spoken of as if he were a pet dog, he didn’t let on.  Perhaps the man could prioritize after all.  He said, “OK.  Let’s do this.”

With Duo’s blessing, that was what happened.  Po led us down the drive to an off-road vehicle.  She nodded for the driver to get out and took his place.  Maxwell, given that his close proximity to either fey would not be prudent, took the seat beside hers.  I climbed into the back with J and G, my skin crawling.

In the distance, I could hear other car doors opening and closing.  Sally’s “boys” were falling back and readying themselves for the trek to headquarters.

She turned on the headlights and pulled out onto the winding road.  Trees flashed past the windows.

“So, Duo,” Sally began, “you normally dress like a ninja or is the outfit for a special occasion?”

He snorted softly.  “It’s my work uniform.”

“Hell of a job you’ve got.”

His shoulders rose and fell with his sigh.  “Yeah.”

When he didn’t say anything further, I asked Po, “What’s our ETA?”

“Midnight, construction detours willing,” she replied, glancing at me in the rear view mirror.  The headlights from the pickup truck behind ours made it easy to catch her wink.  “So get some rest, Chang.”

I grimaced at the thought of closing my eyes – letting down my guard – shoulder-to-shoulder with a fey.  Its cold skin and alien presence would turn anyone’s stomach.  Except Duo Maxwell’s, apparently.

I stared out into the night and listened to the sound of the engine, the tires on asphalt, the soft whoosh of a van speeding by in the opposite lane.

“I’ll need a phone,” I belatedly realized.

“Sure thing,” Sally agreed.  “I bet you’ve got people worried about you.  Just hang in there.  We got everything you’ll need at HQ.”

If the New York clan was anything like the one in London, I didn’t doubt it.  I had other doubts, though.  Many of them.  My gaze slid toward Duo’s slumped form.  From his posture, one was meant to think him asleep.  I studied the irregular motions of his shoulder and chest as they rose and fell with hitches and hiccups.

Duo Maxwell wasn’t asleep.

He was weeping in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to say a bit about Zechs, Trowa/Silencer, and Duo here. As this isn’t a story about Zechs, I can’t really explain in context about his motivations, but he clearly wanted to get even with the Silencer for disgracing him among the fey. I see canon Zechs as being unable to operate outside of some kind of vengeful scheme. (Honestly, this strikes me as a very “fey” trait.) And then there’s Trowa who, being a very young fey at the time of their encounter, probably didn’t realize that he would need to add key clauses to their bargain in order to protect himself. (Also, he didn’t understand that leaving the bargain unfulfilled might be the option with the lesser negative consequences than simply following through.) I’m not saying that the experience was Trowa’s fault – not at all! – but it was a recipe for disaster. This is what Duo responds to when he confronts Zechs. And Duo is 100% OK with blaming Zechs for everything. And making him pay for it. You, my reader, do not have to agree with Duo. (As a matter of fact, this note is evidence that I’m not completely comfortable with Zechs’ fate.) Zechs took advantage of Trowa’s ignorance and uncertainty and, in the fey world, that isn’t a crime. It’s just fey being… fey.
> 
> You might be wondering why Wufei didn’t go for Treize’s throat on sight. Well, it’s my opinion that Wufei is very self-controlled and cool-headed… except for where his own failures are concerned. That’s when he wigs out. This confrontation with Treize—he’s been preparing himself for it for a long time, so he’s gonna keep his cool if it’s the last thing he does. (And he was prepared for that as well.)
> 
> Also, why could Wufei get the best of Treize but Meiran (who Solo implies is a better martial artist… although for all Solo knows Wufei has been training his ass off since they finished school in Boston 6 years ago) couldn’t beat Trowa? This is briefly touched on in the next chapter, but in addition to that upcoming tidbit, I think it’s fair to say that Wufei relies heavily on strategy rather than brute force (unlike Meiran).
> 
> OK SO HOW AM I DOING HERE? If you're still into the story, I would love-love-love to hear from you. (^_^)


	4. Companion and Consort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be no mercy shown for the fool who comes between a consort and companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trowa POV

“Say something about Duo.”

I glared at Heero for a long, silent moment.  Very long and very silent.  As silent as the hollow space in my mind where Duo would be – should be.  Everyone on the plane was holding their collective breath.  It reminded me to breathe; I’d been holding my breath ever since two o’clock.  Waiting.

“No,” I replied, turning back to the window.  It would be sunset soon.  The light that spilled into the cabin through the portholes was tangerine.  Duo had bought tangerines once at the local market.  I’d liked them.  I’d liked sucking their juice off of his fingers more.

“It will help,” Heero insisted.

I glanced from him to Sylvia and back again.  “You’ve misplaced your companion?”

“Duo isn’t misplaced.”

“You’re right.  He was stolen.”  And I would retrieve him.  One way or the other.

“Guys, he’s not a wallet or a set of keys,” Solo argued.  His voice was strained.  He was exhausted.  Tired.  Frustrated.  I was all of those things and more. 

Sylvia shook her head at him in the universal gesture that advised him to shut his mouth.  She said, “Heero hunted for you, Silencer.  He was gone often for weeks at a time.”

I looked at Heero.  He nodded.  “It’ll only get worse.”

I could not bear to contemplate it.  The burning shame had been nothing compared to the emptiness that yawned within me as Duo’s presence slowly evaporated from my being.  Like heat dissipating from a body.  I was a corpse.  Aching from the chill of solitude.

Perhaps words would help.  Memories.  Already mine were icing over, freezing in the barren landscape of a mind that was meant to hold centuries of sensory information, carefully phrased contracts, and detailed descriptions of favors owed.

I glanced down at my hands and I watched my fingers twitch and shift on my lap.  I knew this pattern of movements.  “I braid his hair.”

I didn’t miss the look Heero sent at Sylvia, who smiled warmly but said very firmly, “No.  I’m not going to grow it out.  I like it the way it is.”

He huffed quietly.

The obvious sore point made my lips twitch.  Perhaps, in this one thing, I could consider myself lucky.  When I’d first met Duo – all freckles, knobby elbows, and scraped knees – his hair had been a bit wild but not long.  Not quite long enough for a ponytail like Solo’s was now.  “I never asked him why he grew it out.”

“You will,” Heero informed me.

Yes, I would, because I would find him.  He would be mine again.  He would fill the increasingly colorless expanse of my mind with the sound of his voice and the scent of his shaving soap.  The curve of his lips and the hue of his eyes.  “He reads aloud to me—while I braid his hair.  Psychology.”

Heero’s brows arched.  “Psychology.  Is it useful?”

“No,” I admitted.  “Confusing.”  And not a little terrifying to imagine my companion in such a constant state of mental and emotional flux.  I had been better off not knowing – assuming his mind was as unshifting as a fey’s.

I’d assumed a lot. 

I’d assumed that he wanted me to be dependent upon him because he used endearments in place of my name – a name that was not even mine as it turned out.

I’d assumed that we wouldn’t be able to perform the declaration without setting foot in fey lands – where I was still forbidden to tread.

I’d assumed that Duo had acquired a pair of silver rings in order to—actually, I hadn’t been able to formulate a theory as to why he would have done something so inherently cruel.  I hadn’t been able to consider the possibility that he’d wanted to subjugate me.  Couldn’t.  I’d put the thought and the silver rings out of my mind.  But then he’d confessed, “I can’t be happy if you’re not,” and I’d wondered if he’d intended the opposite: had Duo wanted to place himself at my mercy?  Clearly, he couldn’t know how dangerous that would be.  How tempting.  How easily I could capture and control him through a small circle of metal.  So I had been forced to ask, and his answer – “It’s a kind of declaration” – I never would have anticipated that.

Every time I had made an assumption, I’d later discovered I was wrong.

Relying solely on observations was useless if I did not understand the underlying principles that guided human actions.

There was so much I still did not know.

“Hey, Sylvia, Heero,” Solo said into the tightening silence.  “How’d you two meet, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Sylvia glanced at Heero, who nodded.  “Well, it was nearly a month after my grandfather’s funeral.  I was fifteen years old.  And one day, this boy and – I assumed – his father—”  She glanced my way with a nod.  “—came to the house and he told me he’d been responsible for the explosion that had caused his death.”

“The deaths of everyone at that conference,” Heero corrected in a quiet but steely tone, “both human and fey.”

Sylvia continued, “He apologized for taking so long to come to see me, but he’d been healing.”

“The explosion.  I was badly burned.  You saved my life,” Heero informed me, “though it took weeks.”

“Did it?”

His lips quirked.  “Yes, because I’m pretty sure you were dragging it out to make an example of me.  You’d told me to disregard the intel about the council meeting, but I didn’t.  It was our best chance to eliminate Treize’s circle as well as the masters he was currently in negotiations with.  A complete gathering of Alliance leaders.”

“But that wasn’t what it was,” I concluded.

He didn’t deny it.  Instead, he looked at Sylvia, his shoulders curling into an apologetic posture.

Her expression was sad, but she did not console him.  Both she and Heero had suffered losses that day.  Sylvia had lost a person who had mattered to her – perhaps similar to how Solo mattered to Duo – and Heero had lost a significant measure of his integrity.  He regretted his error and she acknowledged that.  A fey could not ask for more.

I looked out the window, my gaze skimming from one cloud to the next.

“You’re sorry for that?  I mean, you feel remorse?” Solo blurted.

“At that time, no.  I was making an effort at reparation.  I’d taken something very important from the world.  Having thought about it during my convalescence, I’d decided to take the matter to Noventa’s surviving kin.  I was still healing, so the Silencer drove me to the Noventa home.”

“Where you shoved a loaded gun into my hands and told me to avenge my grandfather.”

“You did not want vengeance.”

I turned my gaze back toward them.

Sylvia was smiling, but still sadly.  “No.  I didn’t.  I wanted to continue his cause.  There was only one way I could think to do that.”

Heero’s hand reached out to hers and she curled her fingers around his.  “You asked for a kiss.”

“That I did.  I knew what I was asking for.  My grandfather had told me about the fey.  About companions and consorts.  The only way I could be a part of the resistance was if I was part of the fey world.”

“Foolish,” Heero scolded gently.

“No more than you.”

He did not deny this, either.

“I was present for this?” I inquired.

A brief grin flashed across Heero’s face.  “You were furious when I complied.  Convinced you’d just lost a captain.  Neither of us had anticipated Sylvia’s scheme to join the resistance.”

“Whoa, hold up,” Solo begged with raised hands.  “Tro, you’ve been, ah, alive for how long?”

I shrugged, honestly uncertain.  “Twelve years.”

“So… when did all this happen?” Duo’s brother wanted to know, gesturing between Heero and Sylvia.

“About fifteen years ago,” she replied.

Solo gawped.  “Y’don’t look a day over twenty.”

“It’s the magic,” Heero answered.

“I need a lecture on this.  Who’s up for it?” Solo asked.

Sylvia nudged Heero.

He let out a belabored sigh and answered, “The world of humans is in constant change: creation and decay.  But the world of the fey is unchanging.  The magic maintains all things.  Sylvia and I made our declaration when she was eighteen.  For as long as I am her consort, it will keep her this age.”

“Seriously?” Solo breathed.

“There are drawbacks,” Sylvia allowed.  “I find it difficult to learn new things the same way I used to – from books and lectures.  It has to be hands-on.  A memory involving action or logic.”  She squinted in thought.  “Though, that still isn’t completely right, but… it’s close to how it feels.”

Solo turned to me.  “You and Duo—you did this declaration thing?”

“Yes.”  I resisted the urge to gauge Heero’s reaction – he was aware of my banishment; he would be quick to realize that there was something unique about my companion.

“You—you did this to him?  The same damn thing— _stunted his brain?_   JUST BEFORE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO GO TO COLLEGE!?”

I could not resist informing him with a smirk: “There is _nothing_ ‘stunted’ about Duo.”

A guffaw escaped Sylvia before she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Heero quirked a brow either in curiosity or appreciation.

Solo stood up as his voice dropped into a low growl, “Back to the subject of kicking your ass…”

I crossed my legs and slouched in my seat.  “How many bruises will Duo forgive?” I challenged.

“Fucking—you—I could totally—!”

“Membership is by invitation only.”  My grin widened as he caught the reference.

“I fucking know who you fuck, you asshole.  Just—just shut the hell up, Trowa.”  He stomped off toward the lavatory.  The door slammed shut with enough force to nearly break its hinges.  I wearily leaned my head against the wall of the plane and sighed.

No one said anything for a long moment.  I closed my eyes and a vague recollection of the psychology text I'd been attempting to study rose to the forefront of my thoughts.  I felt nauseous.  “I did not know Duo’s mind would be affected by the declaration.”

Heero acknowledged my admission: “It’s not generally known.  Why would it be?  Most companions reside in fey lands with their consorts.”

That was true.

Still, I should have realized the implications of pouring magic into a human mind that wasn’t designed to be still, unchanging, and eternal.

Fey did not have schools or textbooks… which was probably why I was having such a difficult time comprehending the lecture-like text of the psychology book despite Duo’s assurance that it contained a wealth of information on the human mind.  Even hearing it read in Duo’s captivating voice did not help; fey did not have teachers or mentors like the ones Duo had described when he’d given me a tour of the university campus.  Humans survived by learning—required over a decade of schooling to be prepared for what Duo called “the real world”; fey learned by surviving, by bargaining.  Competition for resources, both necessary and desired, drove our interactions with each other, wove us together into a hierarchy, at the top of which sat the masters of the unified dells we inhabited.  It was a system I had apparently been dedicated to destroying.

I thought of the heads – mine included – which were kept locked away.  All those memories—I didn’t doubt that, taken all together, they had the power to unseat every ruling fey in existence.  The grudges and mocks, the handlers and sways—the “lower class” of feykind—with their pasts restored, they’d be as powerful as the masters themselves.

“Has the resistance been able to liberate any heads from the hunters’ archives?” I inquired.

“Not yet,” Heero answered.

“That’s why Chang Wufei’s fate is also important to us,” Sylvia explained.  “We were considering approaching him with an offer to sit in the new council.”

I shook my head, baffled and exasperated.  “He is your best candidate?”

Heero shrugged.  “He doesn’t usually slaughter fey on sight.  He doesn’t care for us – and considering the likes of Quatre and Treize, I cannot hold his generalization of our kind against him.  It is unfortunate though not wholly inaccurate.  But, he’s a scholar first and foremost.”

Sylvia revealed, “We’re hoping to give him new data to consider.  Accurate data.”

“Which the clans will use to exploit and exterminate us,” I informed them both.

Sylvia sighed.  “That is where Duo and Solo come in.”

“No.  Not Duo.  You will leave him out of your scheming.  He’s mine.  I won’t share him with all of human-and-feykind.”

“Just listen—” she beseeched, but I’d already turned away.  She subsided; Heero had undoubtedly warned her away from pushing me further.  I gripped the armrests of my seat tightly; I had no desire to damage the aircraft.  At least not so long as we were soaring over the landscape with a very long drop beneath us.

Solo emerged from the lavatory just as the plane began to descend, but he did not resume his seat beside me.  He loomed, feet shoulder-width apart and arms akimbo, and waited.

I counted off three seconds in silence before I spoke.  “I apologize for upsetting you.”

“Uh-huh.”  He continued staring at me.

“And if there are any detrimental effects to Duo because of the declaration, I will address it with him.”

He sucked on the inside of his cheek as he considered that.  “OK, then.  And I’m sorry for lecturing you the other night.  Wasn’t my place.”

“Your place is beside Duo,” I allowed.  “As is mine.”

“Yeah, well.  You an’ me – we gotta work on our boundary lines.”  He took his seat and leaned over to punch me in the arm before he buckled up.  “I don’t wanna know what goes on in you guys’ bedroom.  Ever.”

I smirked and very generously let him have the last word.

The landing wheels of the craft touched down on the airstrip just as the sun disappeared behind the horizon with a final shimmer of molten red.  Heero had arranged for a car – a van large enough to hold as many as nine comfortably.

 _Or not so comfortably,_ I mused as Meiran scowled at me and claimed shotgun. 

“Solo’s driving,” she informed us.

Heero handed over the keys with an indifferent shrug.

The streets of the town were quiet.  Street lamps measured and marked off their respective territories with white light.  I turned and looked out the rear window as Heero navigated succinctly from the seat behind Solo.  In my lap, my fingers flexed, twitched, and curled.  Braiding Duo’s hair.

Soon.  He’d be in my arms soon.  And then we’d leave.  Run.  Hide.  Disappear.  Sylvia would have to be content with Solo for her schemes.  I was confident I could convince Duo it was for the best; Solo would be safe with the resistance and no one would be able to use his family against him if neither Duo nor myself could be located.  It was not a long-term plan, but it would be long enough.  Long enough for the Sicarian to be found by someone else.  Long enough for the fey world to shift and change, learn to lean on some other means besides the youngest Maxwell for the achievement of its goals.

In the darkness, we passed exactly three vehicles in quick succession: a large dark Jeep, a pickup truck, and a sedan that snarled as it flashed by the side windows of the van.

Solo turned onto a winding, forest-lined road and we climbed up into the hills overlooking the town, twisting through the woods until I wondered if we were caught on a loop of infinity, going nowhere forever.

“This is the place.  Pull over.” Heero instructed.

Solo complied, parking beneath the sheltering boughs of evergreens and turning off the engine.

“On foot from here,” Heero told us.  “Quietly.”

We crept through the shadows beside the winding asphalt driveway.  I moved as fast as I dared with Solo close on my heels.  Duo was here somewhere.  Captured.  Held against his will and without my consent by fey who’d chosen to flout our laws.  These fey who had my companion – my Duo, who had vowed his life into my keeping and to whom I had sworn my protection – those who had trespassed against us would be punished.  I would claim what was mine by right.  Without hesitation.

In fact, I would watch.  And enjoy every moment.  Immensely.

“What the fuck is there to smile about?” Solo hissed at me.  There was just enough light from the unmoving, twin lights up ahead to illuminate our skin.

“Vengeance,” I told him.

“Well, keep a lid on it ‘til we know he’s safe, yeah?”

I sent him a glare.  We moved forward and, within three more paces, I realized that the lights belonged to a parked car.  There was a clatter of metal against pavement and a string of obscenities.  I did not recognize the old man’s voice.

Heero swore softly.  Solo paused.  I would have continued onward, but a hand on my arm stilled my feet.  Having to stop now, so very close to our goal, tore me open from neck to navel, but I complied and joined the others where they’d ducked deeper into the shadows.

“That sounds like Howard,” Sylvia whispered.  “He’s probably here on Quatre’s orders.  If he is, it’s better that he doesn’t know Heero and I are here.”

“Deniability,” Heero summarized.

“Forget him,” I decided.  “Find Duo.  We’ll deal with him after.”

“He might have information,” Meiran objected.

“We’ll get it,” Solo promised.  “But we can’t let him raise the alarm.”

I commanded, “If we’re unable to get past him, we’ll take him with us.”  Looking to Heero and Sylvia, I said, “In that event, hang back.”

“We’ll be a phone call away,” Sylvia promised and that received a series of nods.

We moved out, crested the hill, and inched along the border of the forest lining the circular drive until we were a short dash from the front door.  It stood ajar, darkness staring out at the car and its grumbling old man, who crouched beside the driver’s side tire.

“Turn you sonuvabitch.  Give it up or I’m gonna piss on ya.”

I glanced from him to the door and back again.  He shifted, presenting his back to me.  I dashed for the entrance in silence, slid across the threshold, and dodged into a shadow.  Solo nearly collided with my shoulder in the darkness.  Anticipating Meiran’s arrival, I quickly investigated the dark entryway, making room.

Sylvia and Heero squeezed in behind her and Sylvia moved forward until she was beside me.  “Flashlight,” she said, and a moment later, a narrow beam of light clicked on.  “Stay behind me,” she whispered and lifted a gun in her other hand, crossing her wrists over each other and angling herself toward the wall as she stepped into the gloom of the hall.

I glanced back to see Heero in a similar pose, shining the beam of his flashlight along the ceiling and into nooks and corners.  My hands twitched, reaching for a weapon.  For Duo.  For both.

Dark rooms, narrow stairs.  Stone walls, flagstone floors.  Broken glass.  A crumpled apron.  Blood.

I stopped breathing.  My knees ached, stung, burned as I froze in the middle of the ruined downstairs hall.  Solo bumped my shoulder.  “Tro-bro,” he said and I swallowed down my terror.  The glass fractured underfoot.  I blinked at a fallen sword; its blade winked in time with each sweeping pass of the flashlight.  A man’s dark suit and tie – rumpled on the floor – with ash spilling out from cuffs that rested at awkward angles.

I leaped over the pile, feeling a shiver race up my spine, and took in the room beyond.  Windows and arm chairs.  A living room, perhaps.

“Trowa,” Sylvia called softly and I followed the beam of the flashlight to a long sofa.  I stared, uncomprehending.  Solo pushed past me, startling me back to myself and I raced him to the clothing that had been laid out on the cushions: a barista polo shirt with three bullet holes in the chest and the scent of fresh blood – a dark splatter of fey blood across the front among mists of human blood – and a pair of chinos that were misted with more bits of human and grimy with some sort of dust.  Or ashes.  Solo grabbed the shirt.  I sank to my knees and reached for the trousers, intending to gather them in my hands and fold them neatly like Duo had shown me how to do that first laundry day, but my fingers clamped, cramped, compressed the cloth in my grasp.

A papery crinkle broke the silence.

I blew out the breath I’d been hoarding and tore into the left-side front pocket.  A folded sheet of paper – stationary with some sort of crest at the top – opened in my shaking hands.  I couldn’t focus on it in the darkness.

“Sylvia, we need the light here,” Solo beckoned and then—illumination.

I stared at the ink on the trembling paper.  Duo was not a poet.  He was not an artist.  Eloquence was rare for him, as if he were saving it for special occasions.

My throat tightened.  I lifted a hand – my left hand – and splayed my fingers over the simple outline of Duo’s hand.  Yes, this was the shape and size of my husband’s left hand drawn in dark ink.  And the pair of slight bumps on either side of the base of his third finger with two lines drawn across to connect them—his wedding band.

His wedding band; his choice.

“Trowa, c’mon bro.  What’s goin’ on?” Solo begged and I realized that at some point he’d crouched down beside me.  He put a hand on my arm.  When had I started shaking?

A second light speared through the darkness and I heard Heero’s voice.  “There’s more like this.  One on the balcony with six humans – all dead.  And three at the top of the stairs.  End of the hall.”

Sylvia asked, “Where do the stairs go?”

Heero told her, “We’re about to find out.”

I lurched to my feet and, clutching the trousers in one hand and the paper in the other, I tore out of the room and down the hall.  Duo’s name was caught in my throat.  I screamed for him in silence.  Burned for him as I raced for the steps, soared over the pile of clothing and ash on the landing and slid down the spiral stairs, nearly tripping when my heels caught on a step and my momentum pushed me against the circular wall.  Pitch darkness.

_Duo?  Please!_

Heero was calling my name – hissing in the silence: Silencer.  _Silencer.  Silencer!_

I groped along the wall, found a threshold, stumbled over it, began charting the room with greedy sweeps of my arms.  The flashlight beam swept the space before I heard a soft click and a single desk lamp turned on.  I found myself beside the wall opposite the only door upon whose threshold Heero was standing.  Between us was a folding table and a heavy chair.  From one thought and the next, I was in the center of the room.  A monitor and scalpel case had been laid out on the former.  There were unbuckled arm and leg restraints on the latter.

And on the floor at the base of the chair was another pile of cloth – a pale grey suit – and ash.  Coppery ashes.

What—what was this?  Where was Duo?  I lifted his note and transferred my gaze to it: the crest at the top – Treize’s coat of arms perhaps – and the outline Duo had drawn of his left hand.  The sketched silver band.  He’d scribbled across the space that should have been blank, gleaming metal.  Scribbled or—no.  Not a scribble.  I had to grab both sides of the paper to hold it steady so I could read what he’d written.  A phrase?  No, a word.  One word:

_SICARIAN_

“I don’t understand,” I whispered.  Whispered and waited for Duo to answer me, but he didn’t – _couldn’t_ – because—

“He’s not here, Tro,” Solo said.

“WHERE?” I snarled, my entire being vibrating with rage.

“I think it’s time to talk to Howard.”

Howard.  The old man and the tire.  “Yes.”

But first—

I leaned over the chair – the place where Duo had presumably been restrained, fearful and angry – and inhaled deeply.  Was I truly catching his scent or was it only the hope of a desperate consort?  I crouched down and sniffed the end of the armrests where the oil from his fingers and sweat from his palms would have polished the grain.  I smelled fey blood and strange, coppery ash on the restraints that had bound his left arm.  I turned back to the place where his right hand would have curled and clutched.  I pressed my tongue to the surface of the armrest.  Drew back.  Swallowed on a slow inhale.

_Duo._

He had been here.  Right here.  Exactly here.

How long ago?

Howard.  If he knew, he _would_ tell me.  Or he would regret it.

“Did—did you just lick the chair?” Solo sputtered.  I ignored his disbelief and disgust, sliding past Heero and managing not to shove Sylvia aside as I clamored up the spiral staircase.

Meiran was standing in the hall studying the weapons in the broken glass case by the light of her cell phone screen.  I reached over her shoulder – ignoring her flinch and shudder of revulsion – and snagged the feykin from its mount.  It hadn’t been cleaned since it’d last been used and the dried blood made the weapon feel mummified in my grasp.  I tucked it along my left palm and turned toward the ascending stairs.

It wasn’t until I heard the distinct click of a flashlight being turned off that I realized Heero had followed in my wake.

“That feel good in your hand?” he asked, glancing down at the feykin.

It did.  “Yes.  Are you surprised?”

“Not at all.  It was yours.”

I digested both that fact and feel of it snug against the contours and creases of my hand.

Heero vowed, “I’ll be right here if you need me to shoot him.”

Solo bumped my shoulder – another accompanying shadow I hadn’t bothered to acknowledge until now.  “Try not to pick a fight and punch him in the gut, yeah?”

I made no promises.  Solo was clearly still bothered by how I’d dealt with Meiran, but now was not the time to explain my motivations.  I sensed that he would not be pleased to learn that I had looked at the situation from all angles and had been satisfied with both potential outcomes: her agonizing death or grudging cooperation.  Though, gathering information had been a somewhat higher priority.

I had not realized that Duo might be displeased by her death.  As soon as Solo had uttered the warning, I’d known it was true.  Duo _would_ be disappointed.  And unhappy.  And angry.  Like when I’d confessed to my role in procuring sacrifices for the masters.  I’d anticipated his displeasure then, but he’d surprised me by cursing the ways of my world rather than me.

He might yet curse me; until he was found and safely in my arms, it was entirely possible that I would kill.  It was a shame that human bodies could not be disposed of here the same way they were in fey lands.  Though I’d never attended one, I’d heard that Summoning Banquets were legendary events of gaiety and feasting.  The music and dances might change, but the featured delicacies on the menu remained constant.

I pushed open the door just as the old man managed to tug the tire off of the elevated end of the vehicle with a round of cursing: “Take that you goat shit eating sonuva pig fuck—damn!  This _is_ goat shit, ain’t it?  Goddamn it!”

I watch him rub his filthy palm against the back of his baggy slacks.

“You gonna just stand there or gimme a hand, pal?” he demanded without turning around to look at me.

“Stand here,” I replied and he snorted.

“Some help you are, young’un.  Ain’t e’en learned yer manners yet, eh?”  He set the tire down on the drive and turned, leaning an elbow on the edge of the open driver’s side window.  “Yer s’possed to respect th’ old folks here.  Age equals experience, which means wisdom.  Consider yerself learned, fey boy.”

“What do you know of Duo Maxwell?” I asked him.

“I know he was here.  And that something plain _wrong_ went down inside them walls.”

“Did you see him?” Solo asked on a rush.

“I did.  Not thirty minutes ago.  Left with Po – Sally Po of the New York clan.  Ya know her?”

This question he directed at Meiran, who’d joined the interrogation during Howard’s lecture about age and wisdom.

“Yes,” Meiran answered.  “But it was a long time ago.”

I looked at her—stared—until she added, “I was invited to one of their camps once.  For training.  Po mentored me.”

“How was Duo?” Solo wanted to know.  “Was he injured?”

Howard shrugged.  “Hard to tell under all that black – clothed from head to toe, _literally_ – but he seemed to be movin’ all right.  Made demands.  Scrappy little shit ain’t he?”

I rounded on Meiran.  “Contact Po.  I need to speak with Duo.  _Now.”_

She sneered.  “I haven’t got her on speed dial!”

“Make it happen,” I ordered, my eyes narrowing and hands fisting around the clothing and feykin I was still clutching.

“I don’t take orders from some filthy, human-fucking—”

“Long,” Solo interjected.  “Please.  If not for Tro, then do it for me.  I’m his _brother.”_

“I know who the bloody hell you are,” she grumbled, but she reached into her jacket pocket for her phone, so I maintained my silence.  I did not point out to Solo that she would likely make the call regardless in order to speak with Chang, who was presumably still with Duo.

Howard hummed.  “So ye’re the other Maxwell.  Wish I could say there was a family resemblance but – as I said – I didn’t get much of a look at him.”

“Who was with him?” Solo asked.

“A clan fella.  Can’t say I’d met him before.  And two old fey farts.  Po took the four of ‘em on the road to the city.”  He lowered his chin and looked at us over the top edge of his dark sunglasses.  “She’s got at least four big boys with her – maybe eight – and they’re armed.”  He kicked a sandaled foot at the flat tire.  “Rifles with scopes and laser sights.  If ye’re goin’ after ‘em, you keep yer distance.”

“Why are you warning us?” I asked.

Howard smirked.  “Ain’t just _you_ I’m talkin’ to is it?  But wait—”  He held up a gnarled, grimy hand.  “Don’t tell me.  Quatre’s gonna ask and I can’t lie for shit around that fucking fey power o’ his.”

“He sent you to bring Duo back,” I inferred.

“Sure did.  Dunno why he wants yer boy so bad, but if I didn’t have intel on the clan to offer in exchange, I’m pretty sure I’d be toast.  Failing a job for that guy ain’t good for yer long-term plans, if ya get what I mean.”

“So why’d you take the job?” Solo asked.

Howard grinned.  “Ask yer friends.  I’m sure they can explain.  So.  Ya gonna help me get on the road so they can come out?”

“Fuck it,” Solo grouched.  He huffed out a sigh and tossed Duo’s polo shirt and barista apron at my chest.  I grabbed both easily.  My fingertips pressed into the bloodstains.  _Not Duo’s blood,_ I told myself.  _Not his.  He is uninjured.  He is fine._

“This the spare?”  He gestured to a lone tire lying on the drive.

“That’s it.”

As the old man supervised Solo’s efforts, I turned my attention back to Meiran.  She was speaking to someone in Chinese, hissing her words as softly as she could given her obvious frustration.

I had some knowledge of the language thanks to the collective wisdom of the Nithlyn Dell, which had been passed to me before my emergence, but I was certain she was utilizing a code of some kind.  Metaphors, perhaps.  Of lions and dragonflies and other nonsensical things.

She snarled an order – “Then find someone who can!” – and hung up.  She looked up and responded to my unblinking stare with a petulant report, “My request has to go through channels.  Po will call when she gets the message.”

I asked of Solo, “How far is New York from here?”

“Not far,” he grunted.  “By plane.”

Meiran huffed.  “You want me to file _another_ flight plan?”

“Well, lookit that—you read my mind!” he sing-songed.

Swearing under her breath, she turned back to her cell phone to call Bennetts Airfield.

Ten agonizingly long minutes later, the tire was changed and the spare stowed.  “Here’s my card, kid,” Howard said, handing over a small rectangle of paper that looked much like the one Sylvia had passed to Solo in London.  “Call if ya need a lift somewhere.”

Duo’s brother took the card without comment.

Meiran hung up with the airfield staff just as the taillights of Howard’s car disappeared into the darkness.

“We should go,” Sylvia said, stepping out from the entryway of the dark residence.  “Heero’s gone ahead to wait with the van – just to make sure Howard behaves himself.  But still...”

Solo turned to me.  “You need anything else from this place?”

I needed Duo.  I _needed_ him.  But he wasn’t here.  I had his clothing and a cryptic message done in and of his hand.  I had the feykin that Heero claimed had once been mine.  I’d seen nothing else here that would lead me to my companion.

I shook my head.

“How long ‘til we get clearance to take off?”

“Clearance isn’t a problem,” she replied tartly.  “The landing site is.  The closer we get to JFK, the more traffic there is.”

“So—refueling?”

“Got it in one, genius.”

Solo growled in frustration.  Apparently, this refueling process would delay us further.

Sylvia volunteered, “Heero and I will cover the cost if the clan is unwilling.”  She squeezed Solo’s shoulder.  “Let us help.  We want Duo safe and sound as badly as you – you _both_ – do.”

I could fairly taste the bitterness of my own disbelief upon my tongue, but I did not allow it to take the form of words.  I headed for the driveway leading down the hill.  Utterances were unnecessary; actions spoke more plainly in any case.

The return journey to the main road and the van was swift.  The remainder of the night was not.  Meiran’s phone continued to not ring throughout the preparations at Bennetts.  We were airborne at just before midnight.  Sylvia spent the flight snoring softly on Heero’s shoulder.  I angled myself away from Solo, offended at the very thought of being close enough to touch anyone other than Duo.

His absence was beginning to chafe… as if my nerves were slowly crawling up through my skin to sting and throb at every possible provocation: the thrum of the jet engines, the persistent and precise artificial breeze in the cabin, the silence, the glow of the lights, the smoothness of the porthole glass, the darkness beyond, my pale reflection upon its surface… all of it.  I fidgeted in my seat, ignoring each time Heero’s lashes lifted and he scolded me with a gaze that reminded me to speak of Duo, to breathe one more instant of life into my memories of him so that their echo might soothe the rawness.

“Talk,” Heero finally whispered.  “It’s painful to watch you.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Solo.  He was asleep.

With a sigh, I said, “I asked Duo once if I loved him.”

“What did he say?”

“It was up to me,” I reported and then asked, “Is it?”

Heero studied me for a moment.  “Why do you value him?”

I stiffened.  Of all the useless, ridiculous things to say!  “What kind of advice is that?” I sneered.

Heero’s blue eyes sparkled with mirth.  “What you asked me when I came to you for guidance on the same subject.”

I snorted with disgust.  As if I would have known the answer.  Then or now.

“Turned out, it actually was good advice,” he murmured.

“There are many reasons why I value him,” I eventually muttered.

Heero corrected me, “The issue isn’t a matter of ‘how many reasons’ but ‘why’—why do you value him?”

The distinction was unclear to me.

“Does he take care of you?  Do things for you?  Please you?” he pressed.

“Yes to all,” I replied.

“So that’s why you value him?”

Again, I had no idea of how to respond.

Heero sighed, exhausted and exasperated with me.  “Imagine a world without him in it.”

“No,” I hissed, stiffening and rejecting the very thought.

He smiled.  “Hurts, doesn’t it?  Why does it hurt?  Because he wouldn’t be there to take care of you anymore?”

I stared at him as the significance of his line of questioning began to make sense.

“No,” I said after a long moment of careful consideration.  It did hurt to think of a world – my world – without Duo, but not because he was my companion or because of what I felt when we touched or how indescribable the sensation of him moving inside me was.  It hurt to contemplate his mortal end not because I would no longer be able to braid his hair or lick fruit juice from his fingers or watch his expression soften when he gazed at the portraits I’d drawn of him.  Though I treasured those things, they were not the sum total of his worth.

Duo was… mine.  But also more than that.  Duo was… himself.  Duo was Duo.

“I value him for himself,” I concluded softly, looking up at Heero.

His cheek was pressed to the crown of Sylvia’s head.  His eyes were shut and his breathing regular.

He was sleeping and I was left alone with my epiphany.  Could it be that simple?  Beyond the magic that bound me to him – the _chemistry,_ in over-simplified human terms – and all of the things we gladly did for and with each other every day, there remained the singular fact that Duo was the most important being in the known universe.  I believed this.  No one else would ever take his place in my life or in the world.

Was this love?

Duo had said it was my choice.

I pulled the crumpled piece of stationary from the pocket of my slacks and carefully smoothed it out.  Once again, I stared at the wedding band he’d sketched.  Wearing this – making his declaration with every moment it was on his finger – this was his choice.

Just as it was my choice to not wear the ring he’d acquired for me.

But what if I did?  If both rings had been forged from the same source and in the same flame, one of two results would occur: either Duo would possess me, or I would possess him.  Only the possessor would be able to remove the ring from the possessed.  The only other way the possessed could be free again would be to remove the finger upon which the ring rested.

There were other risks – risks that made it unwise for any but the masters to dabble in this craft – but they were unlikely.  After all, how could Duo’s ring have been touched by my blood?  Or vice versa?  Impossible.

I shifted and pressed my thumb to the small wrinkle in my trousers’ front right pocket and traced the edge of the silver ring through the fabric.  I’d found it in a velvet jewelry box tucked in among Duo’s socks as I’d searched for anything missing in the apartment.  I’d taken it out and held it carefully between my fingers – touching the metal for the first time – before slipping it into my pocket.

But now I thought of wearing it.  Possessor and possessed be damned.  I needed him too much to care which fate would befall us.

Except… what if I endangered him by upsetting the balance between us?

But what if I saved him?  Gave him the means to break free of his captors?

If only I could have asked Duo.

Not that doing so would provide the right answer or even a safe one.

I shivered with memory, turning away from my reflection in the porthole glass.  Duo would let me do whatever I claimed to need, including take him, be inside him, fuck him.  Just one time.  He’d offered after that, but I’d refused.  I’d had to refuse.  I’d seen my face reflected in the mirror as he’d opened himself to my hunger.

_“Take what you need, baby.”_

In that moment, I’d witnessed my own savagery.  It was there within us, just beneath the surface: the siren’s call to sink teeth into flesh, to rend skin with sharp fingernails, to _devour._   Our ways and laws and punishments were meant to satisfy the bloodlust.  But what if those instincts overwhelmed me?  What would prevent me from doing far, far worse: the things that I had learned to endure over and over and over again in payment for an audience with the masters?

No.  I would not become _that_ monster.  Perhaps Meiran was right about me and I _was_ a monster, but I would not be _that kind._   I would not.

It was no darker or lighter when the plane touched down, but the artificial lights from the sprawl of humanity to the east seared my dry eyes.  I thought of the eye drops Duo had claimed to have had a mishap with on Winner’s jet.

There had been no mishap.  He’d been crying.  Because of what I had confessed to Solo.

My chest tightened until I thought the muscles would be ripped from my spine.  I could picture them whipping into tight coils around the ache.  Holding it.  Preserving it.  A second heart whose throbbing would forever remind me of Duo’s incredible kindness.  Of his true power.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Solo proposed when a check of all present cell phones revealed no messages.

There was a diner down the road from the airfield.  I suffered through a serving of toast.  My hands were trembling.  The mere scent of the stale tea I’d ordered burned the inside of my nose.  The single sip I’d forced down was like acid on my tongue.  My stomach rolled and twisted, fighting against what I’d managed to choke down.

I watched Solo gulp down four cups of black coffee and demolish not only an omelet but also a serving of pancakes and something greasy called hash browns.

“You gotta eat more than that, Tro-bro,” Solo urged.

That was true – I had not eaten since the scone during Duo’s break the morning before.  I’d intended to eat with him at two o’clock.  Take my break.  Press my shoulder against his as we sat on a bench at the nearby bus stop and shared prosciutto and cheese sandwiches garnished with parsley and rocket from the plants in the kitchen.

But he hadn’t come.  Hadn’t answered my calls.

At ten minutes past two, I’d been worried.  At twenty minutes past, I’d known something was wrong.  At two-thirty, I had run out of hope that he was running some sort of errand or caught up in a meeting.

I thought of those sandwiches I’d made for us.  Mr. Rowlski had likely already disposed of them.

It felt like that moment on the bench – that moment that hadn’t happened – was gone forever as well.

Solo ordered a slice of pecan pie without whipped cream and slid it in front of me.

“Try,” he asked of me.  “For Duo.  You’re no good to him if you’re on the verge of falling over.”

I acknowledged this by lifting my fork and prying off a bite, but I was shaking too badly and it tumbled off of the tines before it made it to my mouth.  I had to use my fingers, clutching the sticky, cold meat of the pie and shoving it between my lips like I was a human toddler.

“Heero?” Sylvia prompted and the worry in her voice made me bristle.

He assured her – assured both of us, “It’s all right.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Meiran demanded.

I didn’t have the patience to deal with her.

“It’s the separation,” Heero informed her.  “It’ll ease if he talks about Duo.”

I leaned my head into my hand and hid behind the shadows of my hair.

“Well, then, bloody talk about him!”  Of course the answer seemed so simple to her.

But Duo was mine.  I had absolutely no desire to share with them a single moment that he’d given me.  But I was getting weaker and more useless.  The diner’s fluorescent lights made my skin sizzle.  I tried to think of something – anything – to say.

“I’ve been considering…” I began, and then resignedly reached into my pocket and retrieved the silver wedding band.  I placed it on the table.

Heero tensed.  “No.”

Sylvia agreed with him.  “It’s not worth the risk, Trowa.”

“I need him,” I reminded them, “any way I can have him.”

“What’s a ring got to do with anything?” Solo asked.

I barely listened as Heero explained about metal with the same chemical signature – especially softer metals – having the potential to create magical bonds.  A nose ring was most common – encircling cartilage and skin and a few capillaries was sufficient for guaranteeing servitude to a master.  But the effect of something that enclosed bone and muscle and veins would be so much more overwhelming.  A ring could wrest motor function away from either me or Duo, depending on who the magic recognized as master.

Meiran mused, “So a necklace would…?”

“Destroy any trace of individualism,” Heero told her.  “It would make the human a living puppet for the fey.”

Solo asked, “Why do you assume the human would be the slave?”

“The magic,” I grunted out.  “Normal humans have no defense against it.”  I glanced at Meiran.  When we had fought in the hangar at Hanscom, she couldn’t have known what I was only beginning to understand: magic attuned to the purpose of healing could be devastating.  There was nothing her mortal body could have done to me that would have harmed me.  The knife wound across my palm had summoned a wellspring of power to my fist – a surge of energy – all of which I’d used to crush her internal organs with that single punch.  Even as I’d done it, I hadn’t known what to expect.  It seemed that there were some memories that my body still contained even if my head did not.

The bottom line, though, was simple yet profound: if I was the only healer in existence, then it was very possible that I was also the strongest fighter.  Among both fey and humans.

I was beginning to understand why I’d either chosen or _been chosen_ to lead a fey army.

Her eyes narrowed.  “This business with necklaces—it’s a common practice?”

“Common, no, but known,” Heero admitted.

“And it is one practice that we’re fighting to eliminate,” Sylvia proclaimed.

Just then, a phone rang.  Five pairs of hands scrambled for pockets.

It was Meiran’s.  “Hello?  Yes, this is Long Meiran.  Clan of the Dragon.”

My fingers curled around the edge of the table.  I held my breath, straining to listen in.

“Put it on speaker,” Solo told her.

She wasn’t happy about doing it, but she complied, warning the caller as she tapped the appropriate function on the screen.

“To whom am I speaking?” a woman’s voice asked pleasantly.

Solo announced himself first, then Sylvia Noventa spoke up, then Heero Yuy, and finally, myself: “Trowa Maxwell.”

“Sally Po.  At your service.”

“Are you offering?” I checked.

“Yes, actually.  Duo’s here and he wants his family safe.  I can come and pick you up, or we can meet.”

“Let me speak with Duo,” I demanded just as Solo yelled, “I wanna talk to my brother.”

Sally said, “Just a moment.”

There was a brief pause during which both Solo and I held our respective breaths.

“Solo, he’d like a word with you first.  In private.”

Solo held out his hand for the phone and turned off the speaker.  “D-man, are you—?  Yeah?  They’re really treatin’ you all right?  Uh-huh.  Well, look, we were at the place in Lake George.  What the hell happened to—?  Say what now.”

I stared at him hard, my fingers twitching and curling, either braiding Duo’s hair or wringing his brother’s neck.

“Sh—shit.  I, OK, yeah, I got it, but—”  Solo swallowed, listened for a few seconds, and whatever Duo said made him furious.  “No, you pain in the ass, we are both on our way.  You have no idea what he’s going through, OK?  We’ll figure something out.  I promise.”

My heart was a rock in the center of my chest.  My blood was fizzing as if it were carbonated.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can.  Stay safe, Li’l D.  OK.  Here he is.”

As soon as the phone tilted away from Solo’s ear, I grabbed it and pressed it to mine.  “Duo?  Please.  Talk to me.”

“Baby, oh God, I miss you so—so much.”

 _Ah,_ the pain in my chest could get worse.  Amazingly worse.  “D-Duo,” I stuttered as he sniffled.  “Are you hurt?”

“No, baby, I’m not, but we are.  Oh, fuck.  We’re so fucked.  I—I did all that.”

“You did what?”

“The—the place by the lake.  Solo said you guys went there and you saw—you saw, um…”

“Yes, I saw, but I don’t understand.  What happened?”

His voice was little more than a breath: “The Sicarian.”

“You found it?” I despaired.

“No, baby.  I am it.”  He sobbed.  “You have to stay away from me, OK?  If—if I touch you, it will destroy you, do you understand?”

“No!  No, you’re wrong; that won’t happen.”  He didn’t believe me – I could _hear_ him shaking his head.  “Duo!  It won’t.”

“It happened to Treize and Une and a couple other dudes and—and Zechs.  Baby, that’s the one thing I can give you from all this – Zechs is gone.”

A chilling wave washed over me.  Duo had kept his promise.  “Duo, I need you.”

“And I need you to be safe.  From me.”

Tears filled my eyes, burning and boiling.  “Listen to Solo,” I urged him, barely able to speak around the pain.  “We will sort this out.  I am not giving up and neither are you.”

“I… I love you,” he said in a rush.

I opened my mouth but only soundless misery emerged.

“Trowa?  Are you still there?” Sally asked; Duo must have thrust the phone into her hand.

I couldn’t answer.  I wordlessly held the device out for someone else – anyone else – to take.

Meiran was careful not to let our skin touch as she accepted the phone back.  She watched as Solo passed me a clean napkin and I pressed it to my face in an effort to hide rather than soak up my tears.

“Yes, put Wufei on,” Meiran said and again I understood almost nothing of their encoded exchange.  At least not Meiran’s side of it.  And then Sally returned and was put on speaker.  Solo and Meiran handled the remainder of the phone call, making arrangements for Sally to meet us as we hadn’t yet arranged for a car.

“I should be there in under an hour,” she announced and hung up.

Silence settled upon our table, thickening until—

“Why the bloody hell are you crying?”

“Meiran,” Heero said firmly, “shut up.”

I fled to the shadowed hall that led to the men’s restroom.  I’d hoped that the shadows would be soothing, but they only gave me less to focus on to distract myself from the sensation of my skin roiling inside out.  I breathed shallowly – even my lungs burned – and was dismayed to realize that the mildly annoying wheezing whine I was hearing was coming from my own throat.

I heard footsteps approaching and squeezed my eyes shut.  Hopefully the person attached to them would assume I was fighting a wave of nausea and give me a wide berth.

They didn’t.  They stopped and leaned against the wall beside me.

“Hey,” Solo said.  “Don’t think you meant to leave this behind.”

I forced my eyes open and was greeted by the sight of my wedding ring resting in the center of Solo’s palm.  I held out my hand for it and he slid it into my grasp without our skin touching.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Tro-bro?”

I shook my head.

“You sure talking won’t help?  ‘Cuz I’ll listen.  Just, please, no intimate details.”

My lips quirked into a wry grin.  Perhaps I could talk to Solo.  He was Duo’s brother.  He was also my brother.  We were family, the three of us.  Surely, I could find something to share with him.  Something my miserly soul could stand to let go.

“He’s so patient,” I told him of his younger brother.  Thinking of the discussion on marriage that Solo had given me, I conceded, “And you were right; he takes care of me.  Did he learn that from you?”

Solo snorted softly.  “Not hardly.  I mean, I tried to be patient with him but, when I was a kid, I couldn’t understand that there was something wrong with him, that he wasn’t just being a whiney little brother.  As I got older, I figured it out, though.”  He drew a deep breath and let it out.  “Actually, I think Duo is the way he is because he doesn’t wanna fail you like I failed him.”

I watched Solo scrub a hand over his face and carve furrows into his frazzled hair. 

“You did not fail him,” I replied and then informed him, “you made him better.”

“Better?”

“Patience and caring are considered good traits by humans, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, they are.  I guess you got me there.”

“Duo would have no regrets.”

“Fuck.  Right again.  You’re on a roll.”

His dumbfounded amazement gave me the confidence to tell him more about Duo – the Duo that I knew.  The Duo who never looked at me with disappointment even when I resisted his efforts to convince me to compromise.  The Duo who smiled every time I juggled for him.  The Duo whose sketched portraits were displayed on the inside of our bedroom door because I couldn’t bear to allow another pair of eyes near them.

I must have spoken for nearly an hour because Heero interrupted my telling of the time Duo had found an old baseball cap in the chaos of his closet and proceeded to demonstrate all the “attitudes” one could “pull off” while wearing it at various angles.

Solo was leaning back against the wall with his eyes shut and lips curved into a wry grin when Heero said, “Sally’s here.  We’re leaving.”

I nodded and he stepped past me to use the restroom.

“You look better,” Solo observed.  “You feel better?”

I did.  I still ached, but my skin was no longer trying to find a way to turn itself inside out.  As Solo paid for our food, I addressed Sally: “How did you come to be at the location where Duo was?”

Her brows arched and her lips curved with amusement at my bluntness.  “We keep watch on all the dells and fey properties in our territory.  When there’s activity, a team is called out to keep an eye on things.”

“So you sat back for hours and did nothing,” I summarized.

Solo shifted nervously.  “Hey, Tro-bro, let’s take it outside, eh?”

I was too tired and I hurt too much to bother glaring.  Sally gave him an appreciative smile and we filed out into the dark parking lot.

She gestured to the large, dark Jeep in a nearby space.  I was pretty sure it was the same vehicle that had passed us on the road.  Without a word, I jogged over to it and opened the passenger door.  The scent of Duo’s misery washed over me.  He’d been here.  Crying.

My fingers curled around the edge of the door.

“Answer me, Sally Po,” I demanded.

“Yes, we sat around and did nothing because we didn’t know there were humans inside.  When they were brought out onto the balcony and it was clear that at least one of them was about to be executed, we acted.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I can drive and answer questions at the same time.”

“Fine.”

Sylvia, Heero, and I climbed into the back.  Meiran and Solo shared the front bench seat with Sally.  As soon as we were on the road, Sally gave us her report of the events: a knife coming for Duo’s throat and Wufei’s intervention; the female fey who took it upon herself to finish the task only to receive the very wound meant for Duo; the deaths of the six human henchmen, all killed on Sally’s orders; the sounds of breaking glass and gunshots and screams.

“Wufei would have chosen a weapon,” Meiran speculated, “and then gone after Treize.”

“Well, I’d say Wufei won,” Sally remarked.  Glancing in my direction, she added, “Fair warning, Trowa, Duo’s claimed two more fey.  I hear your kind is a little territorial, so brace yourself.”

That would not be necessary.  I could not believe that Duo would collect additional consorts.  And if he had, I would simply kill them.  My fingers drifted over the bundle of Duo’s clothing that contained my feykin.  As my companion had once said, _Situation: handled._

It was far more likely that the two “old” fey that Howard had seen were meant to serve a purpose, but it was pointless to speculate without more information.

Driving from the rural airfield and into the city was a false dawn.  Or perhaps a Fate’s-eye view on the life of a fey as the darkness of our innocence was lit by victories, failures, and near escapes.  One light for each to illuminate the path we walked.  I was ready for illumination – long past ready.  I needed Duo.  Everything would make sense once he was mine again.

I was fairly vibrating in my seat by the time the Jeep pulled into a parking structure.  The seatbelt was rubbing a raw line along my neck.  I was jarring Heero’s leg with my bouncing knee.  My hands continued twitching as my fingers wove locks of invisible hair.

No one tried to stop me from tearing out of the vehicle when it came to a stop.  I had to wait for Sally to indicate the correct parking exit and enter the required passcodes.  I recalled our entrance to the London clan’s lair; Duo had shielded me with his body then.  Protected me.  I needed to do the same for him.  It was my right.  My place.  My calling.

The door opened on the sight of Chang Wufei locked in combat with another clansman.

“What the hell is going on here?” Sally demanded, drawing a gun from a shoulder holster.  “Martin!  Stand down.”

Reluctantly, both men separated.

“That’s better.”  She lowered the gun but did not tuck it away.  “Explain.  Now,” she demanded.

“Fucking crazy Brit!” Martin began just as Wufei snarled, “Is this what you call hospitality, Po?  Duo is gone.”

“GONE?” I echoed. The single word rolled like thunder.

“Yes, he is gone.  Taken.  Where, Po?” Wufei bristled.  “What is the clan going to do with him?”

Sally turned to the man called Martin.  “On whose orders was Duo Maxwell removed from the sanctuary?”

“Uh, Master Po’s.”

“Stupid old man!” she swore.  “Back in the Jeep, everyone.  Wufei.  You’re with us.”

“Where are we going?” Sylvia asked.

“The city dell.”

Heero nodded.  “We know it.  Sylvia and I will meet you there.”

“Excuse me!  What about my colleague and myself?”

We turned to regard a pair of elderly fey hovering on the threshold, their arms laden with cases and equipment.

“The philosophers,” Heero realized.

“Yes.  If there’s time for introductions, we’d be more than happy to oblige,” the one wearing goggles said.

“Speak for yourself,” groused the second, his long nose twitching with a sniff.

Sylvia glanced at Heero, who nodded.  “Come with us,” she invited.  “Sylvia Noventa and Heero Yuy.”

“Wait,” Chang interjected, and I burned at the delay.  “I promised to help Duo.  These fey may be part of that.”

With an inarticulate snarl, I turned to Sylvia and Heero and said, “I have no intention whatsoever of allowing you to use Duo for your cause, and you will not use these fey as leverage to guarantee Duo’s cooperation.  Whatever Duo needs from these fey he will have without your interference.  Is that understood?”

Sylvia opened her mouth, drawing a sharp breath.  Heero placed a hand on her shoulder.  “Understood, Silencer.  We are offering them sanctuary.  In good faith.”

I turned back to the philosophers.  “Do you accept?”

“The accommodations of the current leader of the resistance?  Yes, that will suffice,” the one with the long nose said, his beady eyes glittering with satisfaction.

His counterpart giggled.  “What an exciting day this has been!”

I headed for the Jeep.

“I guess this means we can leave now,” Meiran griped.

I glanced over my shoulder in time to see Solo level a finger at her.  “Not warning you again, Long.  Muzzle it.”

She lunged at him with teeth bared.  It was a short, mocking gesture, but it got the point across; both of them had reached the limit of their tolerance for the other.

“Back in the car, children,” Sally ordered.  “And be on your best behavior.”

Car doors slammed shut.  Seat belts interlocked with crisp clicks.  Tires squealed against smooth concrete and the car roared down the spiraling ramp and into the predawn darkness.  Green lights flashed over the black hood of the Jeep.  Yellow lights.  Red lights.

Sally drove with reckless abandon.

“What’s going on?” Solo sharply required, grabbing the closest handholds as the Jeep took a sharp right.

“The city dell,” Sally repeated.

“Yes, you mentioned that previously,” Chang snarked.

“Old Po – the moron – I thought he’d be asleep until dawn, but some overambitious little shit must have woken him up, showed him the video we made of the balcony.  What happened to the fey when she tried to cut Maxwell’s throat – she just burned up into ash.  And then when Duo spoke to you on the phone – our calls are recorded – I didn’t warn him, didn’t think anything would happen so fast – I thought you’d all be here to stand with him before that happened.”

“Before _what_ happened?” I urged on a breath of fire and brimstone.

“Before Master Po – the narrow-minded fool – executed one of our plans for if the Sicarian ever fell into clan possession.  We have contingencies for everything.  Their destination is the city dell, which means that the Sicarian—Duo,” she clarified unnecessarily, “is going to be sent into the fey realm to wreak havoc.”

“And Duo has no say in this?” Solo roared.

“Why do you think I’m taking my sweet time getting us there?” Sally replied in a saccharine tone.

“The fey will kill him,” Meiran contributed.

Chang corrected her, “They can’t.  Any attack – be it from a blade or bullet – from a fey results in the fey’s destruction.  He’s invincible against them.”

“Jesus,” Solo breathed.  “At least it’s not a suicide mission.”

“Are you sure?” Chang challenged.  “Your brother would not kill himself to prevent genocide?”

“Oh, fuck.  He would.  He fucking would.”

I snarled.

The car swerved one more time and then screeched to a halt.  “We’re here,” Sally announced.  “Flashlights are in the glovebox.  Follow me.”

Meiran passed a flashlight to Chang and a second to Solo.  She kept the third and last one for herself.  Which was fine.  I would not need a light to find Duo.  He _was_ my light.

Solo surveyed the area.  The beam of the light played over the arch of the gate and the words flashed in the night: Central Park.

“Why am I not fucking surprised?” Solo muttered.

“There’s no reason to be,” I replied shortly.  “What other purpose would a park in the middle of a human city serve?”

“I’m gonna do us both a favor and pretend you didn’t ask,” he told me and ducked into the bushes to follow in Sally’s wake along a narrow dirt path.  A deer trail.  A twisting ribbon that curved right-right-left over and over again.  Yes, we were heading in the right direction.

My heart was pounding, each beat shaking me more forcefully than my footsteps as each foot struck the earth.  My skin tightened.  My scalp tingled.  The tips of my fingers chilled.  A source of magic was near. It lapped at my consciousness – a freezing, salty tide whose brine was made of secrets and whose foam bespoke of desires.

This was what I had given up for Duo.  I would never regret that choice, but I did miss this.  This feeling of an unlimited future caressing my being.

Still, it had not saved me from being captured, un-named, re-made, betrayed, and slaughtered.  It had not protected me when I’d been summoned, misled, used, banished, and abandoned.  As exquisite as the magic of the fey lands felt – as seductive and thrilling – it was a lie.  Its promises were false.

Duo was truth.  Duo was… everything.

Duo was _here._

Solo’s arm caught me from leaping beyond the shelter of the trees.  I trembled as I stared at my companion; he was clothed in the night itself: black from head to toe.

“This is your purpose, Sicarian,” an older man was saying.  “Enter the dell as your instinct demands.”

Duo shook his head furiously and in silence.

Silence.  Duo should not be silent— _would_ not be silent.  Why wasn’t he speaking?  Why wasn’t he gifting me with the comfort of the sound of his voice?  Was this a trick?  Had we been lured here by lie?  The captive who resisted the hands that held his bound arms—was he a clansman?  An actor for our benefit?

But then the figure beside the man who had spoken stepped forward and grabbed the base of Duo’s braid, tilting his head back and shining the beam of a flashlight upon his face.

A face clothed with black fabric, except for his eyes.  My husband’s eyes.  He glared and his face twitched as his jaw worked, fought against the leather straps.

They had muzzled him.

Again, I lunged.

Again, Solo’s arm was the only reason I wasn’t tearing those humans apart with my bare hands.

“Together, Tro-bro,” he mouthed on a breath.

How I heard him over the roar of my rage, I did not know.

The older man – perhaps Master Po – declared sadly, “If you are determined to fight your nature, Shinigami, then we will assist you in fulfilling your destiny.”  He turned to two of his followers.  “Remove his gloves.  Cut away his mask.  Bare his skin.”

No.  _No!_   We could not wait any longer.  Perhaps Heero and Sylvia had arrived, perhaps not.  It would not matter in the long run.

I pushed past Solo’s arm just as Sally’s flashlight danced across the scene.  “Master Po – Uncle Bob – I heard I might find you here.”

“Sally.  You came.”

“Of course.  I’m clan, aren't I?”

“It pleases me to have you present for this occasion.”

“It is an honor.”

Solo leaned toward me and spoke into my ear, “Duo will absolutely shit a brick house if he sees you.  Stay back.  Wufei, Meiran, and I—we got this.”

He bumped his fist against my shoulder and then I was alone.  He and the others were obviously intending to move quietly toward Duo as Sally spoke, the sound of her voice covering the soft rustle of their footsteps on unfamiliar terrain in the darkness.  I could guess easily which side they would approach from.  I moved in the opposite direction.  To provide a timely distraction, of course.

“From what I’ve seen,” Sally was saying, “it won’t matter if he’s wearing gloves or not.”

“It’s fey-made cloth,” Master Po replied.  “It must come off.”

“OK, sure, but don’t send him off in his skivvies, Uncle Bob, or he’ll die of exposure before he can get the job done.”

“We have no reason to think the fey lands are inhospitable,” someone objected.

“We have no reason to think they aren’t, either,” Sally argued.

In that moment, a war cry – Meiran’s – ripped through the night, startling the gathered clan.  Three figures lunged into the small clearing, fists and feet flying.

I crouched down.  Watched for an opening.

In the midst of the momentary chaos, Sally lunged for Duo and dragged him away from the entrance to the dell.  She shoved him toward the trees—toward me.

I stood up and my entire being rejoiced as I reached out my hands to him.

He screamed – the sound was oddly muffled as it emerged from his nose – and hastily dodged my grasp, stumbled, crashed into a tree.  I leaped toward him just as Master Po came between us, sword drawn.

“Not a step further, fey.  Show your hands.”

I lifted them as requested, my throat working and eyes burning with failure.  Stupid, stupid failure.

Someone grabbed Duo and hauled him to his feet.  He screamed.  He fought—kicked, twisted, writhed.

“Toss him into the portal!” Master Po ordered.

“No!” Sally implored.  “Wait!”

Solo swore and spat and shouted.  Chang snarled, struggled against the hands holding him fast.  Meiran hollered a plea in Chinese.

And I—

“Duo!  DUO!  GIVE HIM TO ME HE IS MINE—MY COMPANION AND HUSBAND!  _Duo!!”_

He managed to throw his handler off balance and tumbled to the ground, just this side of the entrance to fey lands.

Death be damned; I dodged the blade and rolled, scuttled, raced toward him.  _“Duo!!”_

He reached for me, his bound hands coming up, his hands raising, palms flattening—but, no.  He wasn’t reaching for me.  He was warning me away.

But I would not be kept from him any longer.  Not a single moment longer.

I stretched out a hand – I was a mere moment away from having him in my arms again – and my fingers closed around nothing but air.

Duo had tucked his arms in and was rolling away from me.  Away from me and into the gateway.

I gasped, breathless with horror.  “No!  Duo!”

In the beams of flashlights, I saw his eyes as he lifted his chin and looked at me.  I saw his tears.  His misery.  His need.

I lunged for him, my fingers curving into claws—

And then he was gone.

Only the cold earth remained.

And me.  I remained.  Because I was banished.  I was banished and Duo was there—just there—on the other side!

I clawed at the earth beneath my hands, tearing at moss and rocks and decaying leaves.  Someone was screaming.  Weeping.  I couldn’t breathe.  My eyes boiled. 

His name.  If I just said it loudly enough, often enough, he’d come back.  He had to come back.  I could _feel_ him; he was close so close just—just—

“Come back!  DUO!!”

All of my vows couldn’t be for naught.  My pain and sacrifices and choice—my choice!  All of it couldn’t count for nothing.  It couldn’t.  Wouldn’t.

Duo’s life would not end this way.  I would not allow it.  I WOULD NOT.

I swiveled around and counted my enemies.  They say the flesh of a fresh kill has a flavor like no other.  I was about to find out if it was true; I was young, yes, but I was vicious.

And I was ready to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, Duo did actually leave a message for Trowa. Duo had no way of knowing who would actually get that message, though, so he had to be pretty obscure about it. (For all he knows, Trowa is still in Boston.) The message was too obscure, as it turned out. But hey, Duo's human. Also, how could he trust Howard – some guy he just met who has admitted to working for Quatre – with something so important? How could he be sure Trowa or Solo would believe him even if the message did reach them? So, yeah. In the previous chapter, Duo was being super cautious, and he chose the side he was reasonably sure would not stab him in the back. But, again, the clan is not as united or honorable as Duo thought they were.
> 
> Chapter 4 is more-or-less a description of how Trowa inches toward the end of his rope until it frays and snaps. At the dell, he cannot NOT reach for Duo. Though there’s no big moment in his POV where you witness his self-control “break” and he falls into pure instinct, it has happened and he is so there right now.


	5. Three Fates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts from the past. Death from a touch. Hope from an obscure prediction. All in all, it's another day in the life of Duo Maxwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo POV

I was falling.

The demons were still there – had always been there – waiting for me to fall into their grasp.  I knew it would do no good to scream.  And even if I could say his name, I knew Trowa wouldn’t be pulling me from the maw of their hunger this time.

Oh, God.  What had I done?  What had I done to him?  To us?  To myself?

I fell through a hailstorm: their ice-cold claws tearing at my body.  I cringed away from their glowing eyes and sharp teeth.  Having my throat sliced open had been nothing compared to this pure terror.  Being shot not once but three times hadn’t burned so badly as my own fear and rage.

I fell until I landed.  _Hard._

“Oomph!” I snorted, twisting into a ball of misery, begging the creatures to leave me be.  _Just go away go away go away!_

“Open your eyes.”

 _What?_   I looked up.

The sharp-toothed hungry shadows were gone.  I blinked at the shadowed figure standing on the other side of the bars of my cage.

“They aren’t real,” he said.  “It’s the magic responding to your fear, manifesting in accordance with your emotions.  You are safe.  For the time being.”

I struggled to my feet, tugging at the zip tie around my wrists as I took in my surroundings.  I was in some sort of cellar.  There were other cages.  Empty.  I heard the roar of a crowd in the distance.  A very drunk and carousing crowd.  Spinning, I caught the flicker of light – a thousand candles – shinning up through a tunnel that led to a room below this one. 

From the place beyond that tunnel, there was a sharp, grating hiss – metal scraping over stone?  Strange words I couldn’t understand.  A whoosh.  I’d heard that sound as Wufei and Treize had fought: a blade slicing through the air.  And then—!

The sickening, wet crack of flesh and bone separating under a very heavy knife.

Even more raucous cheers.  Music.  Singing.

“Come out of there, Duo Maxwell.  You will not be attending the banquet.”

I gaped at my rescuer as he moved into the soft light.  I watched in uncomprehending silence as the door to my cage was opened and the old man – male fey – stood back.  He was here— _here_ —suddenly, come to rescue me like a silver-haired knight riding out of the mist.

The laird of Caerlaverock.  Angus Maxwell.  Grandfather.

_How?_

“I know you have many questions.  I will answer them.  But first you must follow me.”

I lifted my hands to the leather straps binding my jaw shut and followed them around to fiddle with the lock at the back of my head that held the whole shebang in place.  Tugged at it.  Looked up at my grandfather.  Glared, willing him to understand my meaning.

“No.  I’ll not remove it.  You are here to listen, dear child, not speak.  Follow me.”

I sighed hard enough to dislodge snot stuck to the inside of my nostrils.  Damn it.  I grabbed for the cloth covering the lower half of my face and jerked it down as best I could despite the straps.  The last thing I needed was to suffocate on a layer of booger-crusted fabric.  What fun that would be.

What other marvelous, fantastic adventures awaited?  Choking on my own phlegm, perhaps?  Being blinded by my own tears?  Well, only one way to find out.

I followed.

He led me through the cellar and away from the din of the banquet.  What kind of banquet?  I looked from one empty human-sized cage to another and, well, I had a pretty good idea.

A drumbeat started.

Again, the grating whisper of a sharpening stone over steel.

I hesitated.  Looked back.

“Duo,” my grandfather – the fey who had _pretended_ to be my grandfather – called softly, “you will change this.  You will save many lives, both fey and human, but not today.  You are not ready.”

I wanted to be.  I wanted this callous brutality to stop.  I wanted Trowa’s world to be worthy of him.

“Soon,” my guide promised, “but not today.”

I jerked myself away from the flickering light and let him gesture me through a door that appeared to be woven from roots.  It shut behind us just as the blade whooshed through the air.  The silence was somehow worse than hearing the strike – hearing the slaughter itself.

Huh.  Lookit that.  I really could be blinded by tears.  My rescuer waited while I scrubbed at my face.  The moisture rolled off of the black fabric of my gloves like rain sliding off of a duck’s back.

When I could blink my surroundings into focus, I stared in wonder.  Over my head stretched a high, arching ceiling of soft, lush moss and delicate blossoms.  Beneath my feet, pebbles shifted and undulated like I was standing on the skin of a slithering snake, and yet I did not move, did not feel the movement at all.

“This way.”

I looked up and gaped.  The fey was silhouetted upon a bridge, light rising up from below.  I staggered over and just—just—oh my God.  It was beautiful.  The ravine beneath was filled with sky.  A cloudy sky at sunset here beneath our feet but blending into perfect summer-blue the further out I looked.  A wind – sweet and crisp – glided up from the depths and lifted my wrapped braid off of my back.  Twining and knotting it as if the wind could play – was playing – with my hair.

_How was this possible?_

A drop of water splashed between my eyes.  A second formed in front of my nose.  It did not fall from a cloud.  It did not drip from the soft-looking garden overhead.  It hovered, swelled into being as a perfectly round sphere of water.  I took a step forward and it splashed against my skin.

“Duo, come.  They are waiting.”

 _They?  Trowa?_   No, he wasn’t here.  Couldn’t be here because he was still banished, right?  I had to get back to him.  Had to figure this out.  Had to fix this.

 _One thing at a time,_ I reminded myself.

I jogged across the bridge, both marveling and flinching at the delicate knot-work of its construction.  It was made of polished bone, I think.  What kind, I did not want to know.

We reached the other side of the ravine and a new world opened before me.  I ducked through the scarlet veil of a weeping willow and found myself treading upon stars.  Thousands upon thousands of stars speckled the velvety darkness under me.  Foamy ocean waves swirled overhead.  I could smell the salt and brine.  In the distance, I heard the unending roar of a waterfall, but was it falling up or down?  Neither, as it turned out.  The water was gushing sideways.

I approached the fey’s side.  He said, “Be welcome in my home, Duo Maxwell.  No harm will come to you here and I will return you safely to your consort when you have heard what we have to tell you.”

Then he walked right into the wall of white rapids.  Into and through it.  Taking a fortifying breath and squeezing my eyes shut against the mist, I followed.

And found myself perfectly dry in a warm room.  There were fires in several small hearths spaced at what seemed to be random intervals in natural depressions of the cavern walls and there were furs covering the floor.  Shifting furs that moved like the creature that wore them was enjoying a light doze.

“You’re late.”

I spun around and took in the additional two figures present – how had I entered the middle of the room without crossing the threshold first?  Jesus Christ.  This place was a trip and a half.

My fey grandfather hummed.  “I told you he would be reluctant.”  He gestured to the one who had spoken.  “Duo, this is the mercenary.  He is the fighter.  The soldier.  Your consort was a student of his.  Very, very long ago.”

I blinked and managed a nod of greeting.  I tried not to stare at the scar over the sunken space where his right eye should have been.

“And this,” he gestured to the silent male fey lounging on some kind of sofa, “is the hand, the protector, the assassin.  Many summonings ago, Heero was his apprentice.”

Again, I nodded.  Then I turned toward my host.

His smile was just as kind as I remembered.  “I am the parent, the mentor, the teacher.  Together, the three of us are the fates of feykind.  We brought you here to show you the path.”

He gestured for me to have a seat upon what looked like a supremely uncomfortable stool.  But really, who could say for sure in a place so upside-down and inside-out as this was?  Still, just to be on the safe side, I remained standing.

“The fey world is on the brink of discovery.  Humankind will learn of us soon.”

“There will be war,” the mercenary growled through his haphazardly-trimmed, auburn beard.  “Unending war.”

“Unless you intervene,” the assassin added.

I shrugged my shoulders helplessly.

My grandfather said, “You and your consort have the potential to bring both worlds into contact.  Not together, of course, but to operate in concert.  You will make mistakes, yes, both of you will, but you will prevail.”

I looked from one fate to the other.

“All of it has led to this,” the mercenary told me.  “Your consort’s sacrifices.  Your pain.  All of it has manifested as we’d planned.”

“The Sicarian, Reaper, Shinigami.”

“The Healer, Silencer, Sheathe.”

I blinked.  _Sheathe?_

“Yes,” my grandfather approved.  “The paintings – my paintings – are very clear: you are the blade and he is the sheathe.  Only he can hold you, protect you, guard you so that you will never be ill-used, broken, or dulled.  You must learn control and he must become more adept at wielding his own power, but you are meant to be together.”

“Be close, but cautious,” the mercenary advised.

“There has never been a pair like the two of you,” the assassin warned me, “and we do not see everything clearly.”

I couldn’t decide which was more terrifying – the thought of their omniscience or the admission of their limits.

“And now that you can see our design, I will show you the way back,” the fey who had been my grandfather said.

The other two did not say good-bye.  They rose and fell through the floor.  They just… fell.  Into or through the furs that seemed to be breathing.  I looked at my rescuer.

“Though I am not your grandfather, I do care for you and Solo very much,” he informed me.  “Not because the world of the fey needs you, though it surely does.  In fact, you may despise me – it was I who started the rumor of the Sicarian, and I foresaw Quatre Winner’s hunt for you; I’m sure you remember the stories I told you at Caerlaverock of faerie lands and forest adventures.  I did so knowing it would lead you to meeting the fey who would become your consort.  Just as I left instructions for Solo to never allow you near the castle again, knowing he would have to know why, would have to challenge me, would have to take you back there one day.  All that and more is the result of our deliberate efforts.  That is what we do.  We are the fates and we will be watching, Duo Maxwell.”

I had no idea what I was supposed to think about any of this.

_React later._

“I will share with you one more thing before you return: the name of your consort.  His true name.”

I held my breath.

His lips moved as he said it.  And then he spelled it.

I snorted.  Snickered.

He smiled.  “I doubt you’ll forget it.”

I sure as hell wouldn’t.  Jesus fried a chicken.

“And now I really must let you return lest you arrive to find your consort gnawing on some unfortunate human’s genitals.”

I choked, my eyes bulging.

He winked.  “Fare thee well, Duo Maxwell.  Go in peace and safety.”

My stomach dropped.

I fell – was falling – again.

I kept my eyes open this time, but it didn’t matter.  There was only darkness.  The sound of a breeze.  The rustle of leaves.  My feet struck a dirt path and I stumbled, grabbed for a nearby tangle of brush, and looked up.  A zing of awareness shot through me.  A surge of energy beckoning me closer.  The dell was just up the path.  Right where a bright fucking light was defying the inky darkness of midnight.

Some unfortunate homeless dudes would probably spend the rest of their lives trying to convince whoever would listen that they’d seen a UFO landing.  I might not know what this light was exactly, but I knew what it sure as hell wasn’t.

I rushed toward it.

Right, right, left.  Right, right, left.

The dell.  I skidded to a halt, panting, and eased myself toward the clearing.

The New York clan – Master Po and his lackeys – were in the center, all kneeling with hands raised.  Sally Po was cradling a bloody cheek.  Chang was arguing with Heero Yuy of all people.  Meiran Long was scowling fiercely, clearly disagreeing with whatever the two were urgently discussing.

My brother – holy shit – Solo had Trowa on the ground in a full-body lock-down maneuver that I knew from very real personal experience was impossible to escape from.  Trowa’s arms were crossed over his chest and in the bright wash of light I could see the red sheen of blood on his fingers.  He was panting harder than I was, his face a mask of feral fury.

Jesus.

“Duo?”

I turned and holy fuck was I glad to see Sylvia Noventa.  I nodded and gestured to the lock, and tried to talk through my teeth, “Key.  I need the key.”

“Those bastards,” she hissed.  “Come on.  Heero’s about to go in after you.”

We stumbled into the ring of light.  I braced myself for little red dots to decorate my person, but nothing happened.

“Just focus on Trowa,” Sylvia whispered.  “The resistance has your back.”

How many were out here?  Who were they?  Damn, I had so many questions, but none of them mattered right now.

“Duo?” Solo called, prompting an incoherent snarl from my husband who struggled with renewed purpose.

A few steps away, on the border of the dell entrance, Yuy and Chang looked up.

I raised a hand in acknowledgement.

“Who has the key to Maxwell’s muzzle?” Sylvia demanded.  When no one volunteered the information, she, Yuy, Chang, and Meiran all started going through pockets.

“You bloody wanker,” Meiran spat, palming a set of keys from the second guy she searched.

She tossed the keys to Sylvia, who caught them deftly and moved to unlock my restraints.  I barely noticed.  My eyes were on Trowa.  My heart was in my throat.  Jesus, the lights were on but nobody was home.  He didn’t seem to recognize me even though I’d done my best to mash the cloth away from my face.

The harness loosened—at long fucking last!—and I could open my mouth.  I don’t have to tell you what my first word was, do I?

“Trowa, baby.  I’m here.  Just hold on a second—”

“Knife,” Heero offered, passing a hunting knife to Sylvia, who sawed through the zip tie on my wrists.

“Thanks,” I whispered and then took a step toward my husband.  “Hey, Tro.  I’m right here.  Look at me.”  I yanked the cloth off of my face completely and pushed the hood portion back.  “Look at me.”

“Duo,” he said roughly.  I could hear his breath rumbling with every exhale and then rolling on a hiss as he inhaled.  His entire body was taut.  Ready for a fight.  I looked into his eyes.  He stared unblinkingly in my direction.  I couldn’t tell if he recognized me, but he was on high alert.  A predator focused on his prey.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

I so did not want to deal with this here, with Gold only knew how many witnesses, but he was unmanageable like this.  I needed my husband back so we could work on getting the hell out of here.  Together.

I stepped closer.  Closer.  Closer still.  Crouched down on the ground beside him.

“Duo…” Solo warned me.

“I know,” I said and reached out a gloved hand.  Trowa’s nostrils flared; he was perfectly still.  I prayed that the fabric – fey cloth, Master Po had called it – would be enough to protect him if the fey fates were wrong about us.  If, in fact, Trowa was just as vulnerable as any other fey to the Sicarian.  But I had hope that they were right: Trowa and I were meant to be together.  Intimately.

“Trowa?  Baby, can you touch my hand?”  I paused just a finger’s twitch away from his bloody hands and held perfectly still.

The breeze whispered past, either laughing or sighing at us as we all held our breath.  It whipped around the tiny clearing and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a few strands of my hair streak out, dancing with the wind.  Before I could tuck them back under the cloth, a gust sent those half-dozen, stupid, insignificant strands across Trowa’s cheek.

He stiffened, flinched, hissed, and blinked rapidly.

I lurched backwards, but his fingers had chosen that precise moment to capture mine.  I leaned away as far as I could.  “Trowa, baby, let me go.  Gotta deal with my hair.”

His gaze focused on those strands as they fluttered back down to my shoulder.  I was caught up in the angry, red lash-marks across his face where they’d made contact and the fact that they were becoming less red and less angry-looking by the second.

He was healing.  Because he was a healer.  But could he heal fast enough to keep up with the Sicarian?

 _Be close, but cautious,_ the mercenary had said.  No shit, Sherlock.

“Solo,” Trowa said gruffly, “free my left hand.”

Undoubtedly because he wasn’t asking to be released completely, Solo complied.  Trowa reached out and caught those strands of hair, wrapping them around his smallest and least-bloody finger.

“Careful,” I cautioned.  I barely had enough breath to make the word more than a shape on my lips.

“It burns.  A little,” he admitted as he slowly drew his hand away, releasing my hair.  “But I can heal it.”

Even faster than before, the red welts faded into flawless skin.

I wasn’t sure how far this could be trusted: contact with the living tissue of my skin might overwhelm his ability to heal… but then, maybe not.  What did I know about magic?  Perhaps it possessed living and dead cells with the same intensity?  There was a lot I didn’t know and what I _did_ know wasn’t much, but it was a start.

I’d take it.

“So, babe.  You wanna get outta here?”

He looked into my eyes.  _“Yes.”_

I didn’t have to tell Solo to let him go.  My brother’s grip loosened and I hastily tucked the fly-aways behind my ear and drew up my hood, but then my arms were open and Trowa was gathering me close.  
Ah, fuck he felt… intense.  Even through the fey-cloth, I could feel an energy vibrating from his hard body.  A low buzz of voltage that wasn’t exactly painful, but would definitely take some getting used to.  He felt alive, though.  He felt strong and solid and safe.

I kept my face turned away from his clothing and skin.  Closed my eyes as he tilted his brow against my covered hair.

“Li’l bro, as happy as I am to see you all in one piece…” Solo prompted me and I sighed.  It was time to deal with the rest of it.

I didn’t move away from Trowa or ask him to let go of me.  I turned my face toward the sound of my brother’s voice and asked, “What the hell we got goin’ on here, man?”

“A fucking mess.”

Sylvia bristled.  “We are here to protect you.  Nothing more.”

“So… you’re gonna let the clan go on about their business?” I checked.  “No hard feelings?”

She hesitated.

I snorted.  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.  OK, here’s the deal.  I’m leaving with my husband and my brother.  If anyone tries to stop us—” I glared at the kneeling clanspeople, each with a little red laser dot trained on the center of his or her chest.  “—things are gonna get real ugly real fast.  And since it looks like the resistance has the upper hand in this situation, it’s gonna fall on you two—”  I speared Heero and Sylvia with a look.  “—to make sure things stay calm as everyone goes their separate ways peacefully.  We’re not starting a war tonight.  Got it?”

“Yes,” Heero agreed readily.  “We’ll hold them as you withdraw.  Then we’ll fall back and they’ll be free to go.”

“I’d damn well better not hear otherwise.”

“You won’t.”

I nodded and rubbed Trowa’s back before I leaned away.  “Baby?  You’ve got blood on you.  Whose?”

“I…I’m not sure.  Sally’s, I think.”

“Um, no pressure, baby, and you can totally refuse, but are you interested in healing her?”

“Yes.  She tried to help you.  I will heal her.”

I was pretty sure she’d tried to help Trowa, too, but I could understand why he might not want to acknowledge the favor.  “OK.  She’s right here.  Sally, Tro can help you out with those, uh, claw marks.”  Holy fuck those were deep.  He’d almost taken her eye out.  “If you want.”

“I’d appreciate it, yes.”

I got to watch as Trowa – still with one arm around me – reached out a hand to Sally’s face and the gashes closed neatly and seamlessly.  In the bright glare of the lights being shone by the circle of resistance fighters who were concealed among the surrounding trees, I couldn’t make out the glow of his fingertips, which was too bad.  I glanced at Solo, but he was looking on as if he’d seen this before.  Another story I’d have to browbeat outta him.

“Is anyone else seriously injured who doesn’t deserve it?” I checked.

No one spoke up.

“Sally,” I said, “I’m glad you were the one to find me and Chang.”

“Me, too, Duo.”

“Chang, not sure where this leaves us—”

“I will accompany you.  I made you a promise, Maxwell.  I will see it through.”

“Thanks.  Yuy.  Miss Noventa.  I appreciate the cavalry.  Solo’s got your number?”

“He does,” Sylvia confirmed.

“Then we’re callin’ it a night.”

And that was what we did.  I took Trowa’s hand and headed for the trail.  Solo and Chang brought up the rear.  Meiran moved to follow, but then changed her mind and went to stand near Sally.  Just as well.  I had no idea where the hell we were going or how I was even gonna get us there.

But, as it turned out, Solo already had that handled.

“This way,” he said, directing us through the park to a service entrance where a little, white hatchback sat looking like a lump of bird shit under the streetlamp.

“Master O?” I checked, catching a glimpse of his bald head through the slanted windshield.

“Yup,” Solo replied.  “And, if you’re good with it, he’s gonna get us set up somewhere safe for a bit.”

“Um, I guess.”

“I think he’s fey, but I’m not completely sure.”  This he directed at Chang.

I interjected, “Trowa and I both have a lot to learn and work on ‘cuz, y’know, things have changed… a lot.  Chang’s offered to show me how to meditate.”  I turned to Trowa who was staring at me with a hunger that was almost embarrassing.  Y’know, in front of the other guys.  In the bright fluorescent light of the streetlamp.  “Maybe Master O can help you get stronger so I don’t hurt you anymore.”

I had to wait a heartbeat longer than usual for his reply.  He blinked once, the intensity of his expression unchanging.  “Perhaps.  If he is willing, I will try.”

“’Try’ is loser bullshit,” Solo informed him.  “Either do it or don’t.”

“Then I will.”

“Don’t I know it,” he agreed.  “OK, Wufei, you want shotgun with the probably-fey or backseat with the lovebirds?”

“Such appealing options.  Thank you, Maxwell.  Shotgun will suffice.”

As Trowa slid into the backseat, Solo put a hand on my shoulder.  “Hey, butt-brain.”

“What, asshole?”

“Don’t I get a hug or some shit?”

Did he think I’d forgotten about the lecture on marriage that he’d put Trowa through?  Sure, he’d come after me and whatever, but that made him my brother and not any less of a jerk.  “Depends.  Dija jet punched in the face today—er, yesterday?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.  And I apologized, didn’t I, Tro-bro?”

“He did.”

“Well, OK.  One hug.  But you start with the farting we’re leaving you here, moron.”

He laughed and wrestled me into a bear hug.  I grinned.

And then I grinned some more as the little car sputtered and grumped its way through the city streets before wheezing along on the highway.  The seat vibrated under my ass and made me snort out a giggle.  Hell, this car was a fucking deathtrap.  I was thinking of asking Master O if I could name it “Dante’s Shitster.”  Or maybe put a sign up in the rear window that read, “Hell or Hail Mary.”

We drove for the rest of the night.  I dozed against Trowa’s shoulder, unable to manage any real rest.  After my humor burned off, I was left with nothing but uncertainty.  And worry.  And… OK, I’ll be honest: I was terrified that the cloth would slip and my cheek would rock against his shirt and he’d be toast.  Literally.

So I watched as he played with my hair – thank God that Master O kept wet wipes in his little clunker of a car – marveling as Trowa healed faster and faster after wrapping the escaped lock around his fingers for longer and longer periods of time.

When my stomach growled loudly, we pulled into a 24-hour waffle joint that had half a dozen big rigs parked around the side.

“Order me a mega somethin’,” I told Solo.  “I gotta hit the head.”

Trowa gripped my hand tighter.

“Tro.  I think I can manage.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“It’s not a team sport, babe.”

He stiffened.  Every part of him was infused with fucking stubbornness.  Jesus fried a chicken.

“You cannot come into the stall with me,” I informed him.  Hoping he’d clue into the fact that a urinal was not gonna be able to answer this call of nature.

“Leave the door unlocked.”

“Fuck it.  Fine,” I capitulated.  I trusted the guy with my life.  If I couldn’t do a number two with him listening in, what did we really have anyway?

Trowa held the door shut while I pretended he wasn’t there.  Nope, not seeing his fingers curled around the top of the door as I squeaked and splooshed my way to an empty colon.  I hit the flush lever with more force than was strictly necessary, determined to flush the memory while I was at it.

I finished tying the damned codpiece back onto the front of my weird-ass ninja pants and pulled the hem of my tunic-jacket thing down.  “OK.  Mission complete,” I told him.

“My turn,” he informed me.  “Hold the door.”

So he could stare at my hand the entire damn time he was using the toilet.  To hell with it.  I could be accommodating.  Today.  Tomorrow, we might have to have a talk about personal boundaries.

Or maybe I was just cranky because I was exhausted and starving.

Trowa hovered while I washed up.  He stared at me as I pulled my gloves on and then he took a turn at the sink.  He grabbed my gloved hand just as the door squealed open and a massive trucker in a red-and-black plaid flannel shirt lumbered in.  He looked from our clasped hands to me to Trowa.

I giggled.  “The doc says if I’m good I can take baths all by myself soon.  Whoo-hoo!”

Trowa pulled me out of the restroom with perfect timing.

My mega waffle special was waiting for me when I slid into my seat at the corner booth that someone – Solo, maybe – had negotiated for with the world-weary waitress.  I dug in.  Trowa was still clutching my left hand with his right.  He picked at his salad, entirely forgoing the fork laid out for his use.

Paul Bunyan, the trucker, meandered past, giving us a look that discouraged the enjoyment of a second cup of coffee and pie for dessert.  We ate.  We paid.  We remembered to tip.  We got the hell outta there.

As it was dawn, I didn’t see any point in trying to get more sleep.  I asked, “So-bro, how was your day yesterday?”

“Jesus Christ, dumb-bro,” he groaned, combing his disheveled hair with his fingers, which only messed it up more.  “Where do I fucking start?”

“At the beginning?” I advised and with a sigh he got started.  It was a solid hour later before he fumbled through all the false starts and backstory to get us to the moment in Central Park when I’d disappeared into the dell.  I’d vanished and Trowa had turned on my abductors, more than ready to take down every single clan member with his bare hands starting with Master Po.  Sally had leaped between them, Solo had piled on with his wicked judo skills, and that was right about when the resistance had shown up.

Jesus.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, babe,” I remarked, meeting Trowa’s gaze.  He was still watching me like he half expected me to vanish in a puff of smoke.  “You wanna add anything to all that?”

“I missed you.”

I snorted.  Grinned.  “I missed you, too.  Like, a lot.”  And I’d been so terrified that I wouldn’t even be able to do this – sit beside him with his arm around my shoulders and our bodies pressed together all the way down to our knees – ever again.  Fey-made cloth or no.

He stretched his chin out, pressed his cheek to the top of my hood-covered head, and sighed.  His arm tightened around my shoulders.  He clasped my hand in his so tightly it kind of hurt.  I didn’t complain.  I matched his grip.

It was almost noon when we pulled off of a rural highway and puttered-bounced-winced up the dirt tracks to a weathered farmhouse.  The lawn needed a good mowing—or more like threshing—and several shutters were hanging cockeyed on their hinges, but holy hell did it look like heaven.  I was so ready to crash for the next year or so.  Hibernation, here I come.

No one tried to stop Trowa from moving into the room I’d claimed as mine with me.  Not even I protested even though I knew it would be dangerous for him.  Incredibly dangerous.  But I wasn’t an idiot; I knew he would never forgive me if I imposed space between us right now.  I double checked all the knots and fastenings on my clothing and dived onto the bare mattress.  It was warped and water-stained and it smelled like dust, but I wouldn’t notice once I was asleep.

I felt Trowa scoot up behind me and press his chest against my back as I succumbed.

When I woke, it was to the dubious welcome of a full bladder in a dim room.  I’d slept the day away.  I gingerly sat up and braced my hands on the mattress.  Something slid over my hand.  Something soft and powdery.  I turned toward the place beside me where Trowa would be.  Should be.

There was a tangle of clothes and a pile of ashes.

I screamed.

I screamed and thrashed.

Fell.

Scrambled.

Pressed my back against the wall, squeezed my eyes shut, and hid behind the sensation of my head exploding.

“Duo?  Duo!”

“Holy fuck, Tro!  What the hell’s going on?”

“I don’t know.  He woke up screaming.”

Something shook me, rattled my bones.  My voice was hoarse and my throat raw.  Warm fingers pulled at the cloth suffocating me and grabbed my chin.

“Hey!  Open your eyes!  Wake up, Goddamn it, you’re scaring the shit outta us!”

“I am awake!” I shouted.  “I—I—Trowa!  Oh, my God.  Oh—oh, my God.  _Trowa!!”_

“I’m here.”

I sobbed, shook my head.  I didn’t have the strength to tell him he was gone.  Gone forever.

“Duo, bro.  It’s Solo.  Look at me, kiddo.”

His gentle tone unglued my gummy eyelids.  The world was a blur of sunset red and orange.  I cupped my hands around my eyes.  I couldn’t look at the bed.  At the—the _remains._   “D’you… d’you think he felt it?  Su-suffered?  Oh, God.  Oh God oh God oh God—”

“Duo,” Solo said again, firmly.  “Trowa’s fine.  He’s right here.  You just had a nightmare.”

“He’s—I—what?”

I heard the sound of someone sliding off of the old mattress and onto the hardwood floor.  “Duo.  I’m right here.”

He was?  I wasn’t imagining this?  He was real and alive and OK?  I slowly turned my gaze in his direction.  He looked real.  He looked exhausted and disheveled, but fine.

I wanted to reach out to him so badly, but the image of him as ash rose up before me.  I pushed myself into the corner, drew my legs up and tucked my arms against my chest.  I stared at him, but every time I blinked his face flickered from green-scarred pallor to crackled coppery ash and back again.

Someone whimpered.

“Trowa, can you go get him some water?” I heard Solo suggest. 

I closed my eyes, pressed my hands to my aching head, and listened for his footsteps – nearly silent – as he hurried from the room.  Or maybe the sound of my quick, shrill breaths was just that loud.

“Breathe, Duo.  Just breathe with me.  In and out.  There ya go.  In and out.”

I remembered what Chang had done for me earlier and strove for that same feeling of calm.  I must have managed it passably well because Solo stopped gently coaching me and started being a pain in the ass.

“You got a goose egg there,” my brother observed.  “Good job landing on your head, butt-brain.”

“Piss off, moron.”

“Hey, c’mon.  I want you to see something.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but he was my big brother.  I trusted him.

His hand hooked under my arm and he levered me up.  “Look at the bed, D-man.  It’s empty.  You didn’t hurt him.”

I looked.  He was right.  The bed was empty.  There were no wrinkled clothes filled with ash.  My knees gave out and I sat down on the edge of the mattress just as the sound of quick footsteps reached me.  A figure slid to a halt on the threshold, ducked into the room, and hovered over me with a metal coffee cup in both his shaking hands.

Solo took it from him and held it out to me.  I lifted it, sniffed, and gulped down the tepid water.  My eyes didn’t leave Trowa the entire time.

“It was just a nightmare,” Solo reminded me.

“What if it hadn’t been?” I choked out, still staring at Trowa.

Solo huffed out a sigh.  “Fuck.  It wasn’t.  OK?”

“Next time—”

“Let’s focus on right now,” he argued, looking from me to Trowa and back again.  “C’mon, Li’l D.  Get in the shower.  You’ll feel better.”

I let him drag me out of the room – away from Trowa – and down the hall to the bathroom.  The hot water tap banged and groaned, but the water was warm and Solo had been right: I did feel better.  I also felt worse.

“I’m sorry for waking everyone up like that,” I said when I found my way to the kitchen.  It was dark outside, but everyone was awake and sitting around the scarred table.  It had taken me a long time to dry my hair with only my own trembling hands to work the single blow dryer.  Even longer to braid my hair.  Was I out of practice already?

Solo opened his mouth to tell me it was all right – I could see it coming in the tilt of his chin and the half-shrug thing he does – but Wufei stood, pushing his chair back with a rattle.  “We will begin meditation now.  Drink some water.  Eat something light.  Then meet me in the living room.”

I watched him walk out.  There were three people at the table now and Solo seemed fascinated with the woodgrain, tracing it over and over with the edge of his thumbnail.

I cleared my throat.  “Master O?”

“Yes, Duo?”

“Is this your place?”

“It is.  And you are safe here.”

“Are you fey?”

He nodded.  “I am a philosopher.”

“Then, you’re the one who’s not safe here,” I told him, “with me.”

“I will keep my distance,” he promised.  With that, he stood and left the room.

“Why is he helping us?” I asked Solo, who answered simply, “Because we need it.”

“What about work and—”

“This takes priority, D-dude.  Jobs are replaceable.  The apartment ain’t goin’ anywhere.  We’ll sort it out.”

He bopped me on the arm as he left the kitchen, leaving me alone with my husband.  I was tempted to sink into one of the rickety dining chairs, but what if Trowa started up a game of footsie again?  What if my trousers rode up or tore or—

“You don’t trust me.”

I gaped at him.  “What are you talking about?”

“I know what you can do, Duo.  I saw the remains at Treize’s home.  I also saw the bullet holes in your shirt.  And the blood.”  His jaw clenched.  “I have never known such fear.”

I didn’t know what to say.

He confessed, “I wasn’t thinking clearly at the dell.  I was a consort who needed his companion, nothing else mattered.”

“That’s changed?” I whispered, frowning.

He nodded.  “I’m in control now.”  He stood up, moved closer.  “Do you believe me?”

I licked my dry lips.

He came even closer.  I considered backing up, but how far would I get?  Was there any nook or cranny I could hide in on the property where he couldn’t reach me?  Was there any place where he wouldn’t be able to corner me?  I mean, really.

He approached until I could feel his breath on my cheek.  “Do you believe me?”

I was afraid to move.  My gaze flickered over his stern expression.  I swallowed thickly.  “If I make even one mistake—”

“It won’t destroy me.”

“But—” what about when he was sleeping?  What if it happened when he wasn’t even aware of it?  What if he couldn’t get away from me fast enough?  What if he couldn’t heal in time to stop it from—

“Duo.”  He lifted a hand and tugged my still damp but securely wrapped braid over my shoulder.  With deft fingers, he untied the ends of the cloth.  My pulse quickened with both fear and arousal as the end was exposed.  He massaged the weave gently, toyed with the tail, and then released it, showing me his only-slightly red fingertips.  “Today, I can do this.  Tomorrow, I will be able to do more.  Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.  “Then go and learn what you need from Chang, but come back to me when you’re done.”

“You… you want, um, I mean—”

“I want my companion and husband to sit with me and hold my hand and talk to me.  I want him to lie beside me on our bed and let me hold him.  I want everything you are able to give me.”

Even if my fey-made clothes had to stay on and we had to keep our lips to ourselves.  For now.  I had to believe this was a “for now” kind of thing.  Had to.

I drew a deep breath.  “OK,” I told him.  “I’ll find you when I’m done.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the hood covering my hair.  Then he left.  Why that simple thing hurt, I couldn’t begin to guess, but it nearly brought me to tears.

I spent the next hour trying to calm my mind, but serenity might as well have been a jackanape on Mars.

“Meditation alone will not be enough,” Chang decided and bullied me outside.  In the light that fell upon the warped front porch from the living room windows, he showed me some basic forms of tai chi.  They helped.  They helped a lot.  After nearly two hours, I was starting to think I might recognize serenity.  Vaguely.

“We’ll continue with this later,” he informed me.  “Tai chi.  Yoga.  Meditation.”

I was open to anything that might help.

Although, how would I know if it was helping?  It seemed to me that there was only one test and I wasn’t interested in asking Master O if he was feeling lucky today.

Or the next day.  Or the one after that.  And any of the other days that followed in that hellishly frustrating week.

A pattern emerged early on: wake up, not-kiss my husband, angry-spar with Solo, breakfast, petulant tai chi and whatnot with Chang, lunch, rest (which meant sitting with Trowa on the porch and trying to pretend everything was normal – talking about everything from childhood dragonfly hunts to what a career was and which I was even remotely interested in), determined meditation with Chang, a competitive run with Solo, a shower, dinner, and a tense night spent staring at the walls or ceiling (I was an equal-opportunity insomniac) as Trowa crowded me on the mattress and I prayed nothing bad happened to him.

I didn’t have the nightmare again, but every time I opened my eyes, I wondered what I would see.  Trowa refused to sleep apart from me.  Adamantly refused.

“Jesus, Tro.  Just for one damned night I’d like to wear a regular T-shirt and a pair of shorts to bed, OK?”

“There’s nothing stopping you from doing so.”

“Yes, there damn well is.  I can’t do that if you’re in bed with me.”

“You are not removing me from our bed.”

“OK, fine.  Then I’ll sleep on the fucking sofa!”  I grabbed for the pillow that had become “mine.”

Trowa’s hand came down upon the door as I turned the knob.  “No.  Don’t leave me again.”

“Leave you?  What the—look, it’s just for one damn night.  It’s summer.  There’s no air conditioning in this place.  This fucking fey cloth is torture!”

“Don’t.  Leave.  Me.  Again.”

“When the hell did I ever leave you?”

“At Lake George.”

I gaped, blinked, and rallied, “No, I left Treize’s house.  To seek help.”

“Not with me.”

OK, I could kind of see where he was coming from but, seriously!  “Baby, I honestly thought I’d destroy your soul if you touched me.”  Hell, I hadn’t even been sure that the clothing Treize had supplied me with would be an improvement over my work clothes.  The only thing I’d known for sure was that damn barista polo shirt had done diddly-squat at containing my freakish power.  “I could hurt you— _worse_ than hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“Goddamn it, we still don’t know that for sure!  And I sure as hell wasn’t gonna gamble with your life when I had no fucking clue what the hell was going on.  If you’d been in my place – if you’d had no idea where I was or when you’d see me again—fuck, you know what?  I hope you never have to go through that, because it is Hell.  It killed me to go with Sally and Wufei, but my other choice was Boston, where I was afraid you were and where Quatre was definitely expecting me.  So, OK, I should apologize?  For doing my best to keep _you_ alive and _myself_ away from Quatre?  Or maybe I should apologize for being _of magic_ in the first place?”

We both knew whose fault _that_ was.

“I am to blame?” he asked, his hand sliding away from the door.

“Well, it sure as hell ain’t me!”  I slammed out of the room and stomped down the hall.  Found myself a nice, lumpy sofa cushion to sprawl out on.  I was still wrapped up like a damned ninja, though, so it wasn’t like I was getting any satisfaction out of it.  In fact, there was zero satisfaction in anything that had just been said.

“Feel better?” Solo asked, and the instant he did, I knew without a shadow of a doubt just how thin the walls in this fucking pile were.

I glared as he sauntered over and claimed the other half of the sofa for himself.  “No.”

“Good.  Because you probably just tore his guts out.”

“Fuck off.”

“Okie dokie.  After you hear something – one thing!” he insisted.

I turned my face away and glared at the nearest window.

He sighed.  “Trowa needs you.  Like, you have no idea how much he needs you.  He was in _obvious_ physical pain pretty much the entire time you were missing.  God, it hurt just to watch him trying to keep it together.”

My fingers curled and dug deeper into the pillow I’d taken.

“Just—just don’t be a dick,” he said and left to go bother someone else.

But he’d accomplished his mission: I’d heard him.  I’d heard him and I couldn’t get the image of Trowa out of my head.  The way he’d looked as he reached for me in Central Park.  The way he’d disregarded the promise of death from Master Po’s sword to come after me.  Jesus.  I’d been married to him for a month and I still didn’t understand the first thing about him.

I went back to our room, swallowed my pride, and knocked.  When I didn’t get an answer, I eased the door open.  Trowa was curled up in the same corner that I’d tried to disappear into after my nightmare.  I sat down on the edge of the bed and tossed my pillow back into its normal spot.  The puff of air rustled something he was cradling gingerly in his hands.  It was the note – the sketch – I’d left for him at Lake George.

I said, “I’m sorry it wasn’t an actual letter.  I—I wanted to write you – tell you everything – but I had no way of knowing if you’d even be the one to find it.  Or if you’d ever see it.”  Or, if not him, then who?  Quatre?  I shuddered at the thought.

“What does it mean?”

For a good half minute, I couldn’t form the words.  I opened and closed my mouth twice before I rasped, “It means I still want this, our marriage.  It means I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure we’re OK, you and me.  It means we have a problem now – the Sicarian – but I’m not gonna let it break us.  I… I was so scared that I’d have to be gone for a real long time while I figured out how to make myself safe for you, and it means I want you with me, but I _won’t_ ask you to risk your life again.”

We both drew unsteady breaths.

I asked, “How come you didn’t tell me about the pain?  When we were apart?  Wait—do you feel it every time?”

He shook his head.  “I didn’t know where you were.”

“Baby—”

“Don’t leave me again,” he whispered.

I stood and reached for him.  In the next instant, his hot breath was puffing through the fabric over my belly.  He knelt with his arms wrapped around my hips, his hands seeking over my clothing.  Clutching and kneading.

“Don’t leave me again.”

I felt his words as if his warm lips had imprinted them upon my skin.  Whatever resistance might have been lingering in me just crumbled into nothing.  “I won’t,” I promised.  “Never again.”

Where would I even go?  I was never going to be free of him… or myself.  I was never going to be free of what I was.

“This is a bad idea,” I told Wufei a few days later.

“Maxwell, your fey’s life doesn’t just depend on you being able to suppress your ability.  You need to control it.  That means you need to be able to call it forth if or when needed.  You also need to know how it is summoned so that you will be aware that it is present and you are at your most dangerous.”

He was right, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.  We wasted a whole morning on trying to bring the Sicarian to the surface.

“Your eyes are still normal,” he claimed, his shoulders taut with frustration.  “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

I waved him away and went to gas up the push mower.  Our tai chi spot could use a once-over.  I didn’t stop with the yard work until I saw Master O, Solo, and Wufei head for the car.  I set the mower on idle and leaned against the handle bar.

“Goin’ into town!  Groceries!” my brother shouted and I waved in acknowledgement.  Wufei held up a cell phone.  I guess that meant he was tagging along to try and hijack a wireless signal so he could check in with the clan.  Whatever.  There wasn’t anybody out there in the world that I absolutely needed to talk to.

The car rattled off, raising a cloud of dust.  It was just me and Trowa, then.  And the Sicarian, of course.  Which was never gonna go away.  Was never gonna let me have my life back no matter what I did or how hard I tried.  I finished up cutting the grass and shoved the push-mower back into the sagging garage.  Then I went to go sit somewhere and be fucking miserable.

“What’s wrong?”

I looked up at Trowa as he sank down beside me on the top step of the back porch.

“Nothing.  Everything,” I said unhelpfully.

He inched closer.  Leaned.  “Nothing, yes.  I know.”  His voice was a low rumble.  He murmured, “I miss you.  Very, very much, Duo.”

The heat flushing my skin had nothing to do with it being in the middle of a dry spell in August.

“I—oh, God—I miss you, too.”  I missed being able to touch him and kiss him.  I missed his bare skin and sexy moans.  But even if I could have all that again, right now, it wouldn’t change the rest of it.

He waited for me to respond bodily.  When I clasped my hands together between my knees, he re-evaluated the situation.  “But… that’s not why you’re sad,” he said slowly.

“I’m sad,” I replied carefully, “because I’m a weapon.  A weapon that hurts people.”

He tilted his head to the side.  “Humans do not desire this for themselves?”

“Uh, no.  Not generally.”

“Solo and Chang are exceptions?”

“Huh?  I—uh…”  Wow.  He was right.  Solo and Chang had committed themselves to some martial art or other.  Had made themselves into weapons.  Hell, the average Hollywood summer blockbuster glorified the hero as indestructible badass.  There was one big difference, though: “I hate that I’m a threat to normal fey.  Folks who are just living their lives.  Who haven’t done anything wrong.  Who sure as hell don’t deserve to get, y’know, destroyed for all time because they stood next to me on the bus or whatever.”

Trowa was quiet for a long moment.  “I’m sorry, Duo.”

“For what?”

“I made this possible.”

“I… Tro, this wasn’t your fault.  The Sicarian.  It was pretty much outta both our hands, from day one.”  I confessed, “I met the fates – the three fey fates – in the dell.  They told me they’d planned it all.  You and me: the Sheathe and the Sicarian.  We’re gonna prevent war, I guess, between humans and fey.  They seemed pretty sure of that, but – damn it – they couldn’t even tell me how or when you and I were gonna…”  I gestured aimlessly and then dropped my hands to my lap on a sigh.  “They told me to trust in you, and I want that more than anything.  I want _you_ more than anything.”

He absorbed that and then asked quietly, “You do not regret giving me your friendship?”

I shook my head.  “Never.”

“And yet this gift makes you sad?”

“Gift?” I choked out.  I was on the verge of telling him exactly what I thought of this Goddamned _gift,_ but instead I looked at him.  Really looked at him.  “You believe it’s a gift?”

His lips quirked.  “Think of the advantages.”

“What advantages?”  How could there be an upside to this?

His eyes gleamed.  “I’ll show you.”

I knew that look.  Intimately.  “No, wait, baby—”

But he was already straddling me on the steps, pulling his shirt off and sliding the black cloth off of my hair.  He leaned close.  Close enough for his long bangs to brush my cheek.  I held my breath as the hum of his energy – his magic – whispered against my face, but nothing else – nothing horrible – happened.  I simply felt the soft tickle of the strands on my skin.  After nearly two weeks of abstinence, the sensation shot to my groin with the speed and intensity of a lightning bolt.

The wind whipped strands of hair loose from my braid and they lashed Trowa’s skin, but there were no red marks left in their wake now.

“Hmm, Duo,” he breathed along my neck and I gripped the edge of the step to keep from dragging him closer.  “The shirt.  Take it off.  Let me see you.”

My hands unsteadily but speedily complied.

“Ahh,” he sighed against my skin.

I bit my lip to stop myself from wiggling in an effort to make some room for my hardening cock and sensitive balls.

Trowa slid forward on my lap and I groaned at the feel of him, at the incredible friction as our hard lengths rubbed against each other.  Fey-cloth and cotton twill did nothing to dampen my need for him.

I reaffirmed my grip on the step and rolled my hips.  He answered with a thrust that had my eyes sliding shut, my back arching, and my breath hissing out from between my teeth.  “Oh, fuck, baby.  Please.”

His next thrust had me gasping, groaning, begging.  “Don’t stop, baby, please.  Please.  I need you.”

He shuddered in pleasure and his third thrust was pure bliss, pure torment, pure _everything._   And he didn’t stop.

He moved against me, his arms outstretched to grip the rickety railing on either side as he rode me, drove me, inundated me with so much heat and feeling.  So much and yet not enough.  He breathed, panted, and sighed against my skin.  My neck, my shoulders, my chest.

My nipples were hard.  My cock was leaking.  I was so close.  “Trowa,” I pleaded.

“Take what you need,” he whispered in my ear.  My hips rose off of the hard steps and—ah, God—the angle was—please please please—perfect and I was—“Nuhgn!  Trowa!”

I watched him watching me as I dived into the hot tide of release.  I came in my pants.  Heard him moan.  Felt him twitch as he followed me.

I sagged back, breathless and wrung out.  Holy fuck.  Just—just— _damn._

I tugged his bangs aside with a gloved hand so that I could have an uninterrupted view of his green eyes.  “I would give anything to kiss you,” I told him.

“Give me your trust,” he replied, reaching for my other gloved hand and interlacing our fingers.

“Baby—”

“Trust,” he reminded me.  Lifting my hand, he held my gaze as he pressed the softest, briefest kiss to the inside of my wrist, just above the edge of the glove.

He’d kissed my bare skin, but his lips were fine.  Perfect.  Incredible.

He smiled and placed a second, longer kiss to the same spot.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Tingles,” he replied.

I nodded.  I felt it, too.  I assumed it was the magic.  Somehow.  He flicked his tongue against that spot and I moaned.  Fuck it.  I’d analyze later.

“Tangy,” he answered before I could ask.  Before I could think.

He lifted his face to mine, tilted his head, and lowered his mouth until our lips touched.  Sweet Jesus.  His lips parted and his hot tongue—fuck, I’d nearly forgotten how damn hot he was—teased and toyed with my mouth until I relaxed my jaw enough to give him room to work.  To brush and nibble and caress and suck.  Oh.  Oh, yes.  Oh, just a little more.

I reached for him.  My gloved hands gliding down his bare back.  He arched, mewled, drew my lower lip into his mouth.  My fingers tensed, curled.  My hips twitched.  I leaned forward and drew upon his mouth—his incredible mouth—seeking, meeting, reacquainting myself with his taste and depths.  My hands clenched on his hips tightly.

Mine.  He was _mine._

He stiffened, his chin jerking to the side.

“Hn!  Ah!  Stop!  Duo, stop!”

I released him, cringing away and watching helplessly as he scowled in concentration.  His eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched.  I’d hurt him.  Somewhere.  His hips through the fabric of his pants?  The inside of his mouth?

But then his face relaxed and his eyes opened.  He smiled.

I felt my lips curve in response.  OK, so we weren’t perfect at this yet, but we were possible, Trowa and I.  This was possible.  This was progress.  Someday I was gonna be able to make love to him.  _With_ him.  Oh, God.  It was going to happen.  It really, truly was.

Trowa started joining me and Chang for tai chi and yoga and meditation.  About five days later, I dared to look in on his session with Master O – poking my head in the open doorway of the library on the first floor – and wound up getting conscripted to participate.

“Calm your mind, Duo.  Good.  Now, Trowa, take his hand.”

I was cool with this as my gloves were still in place.

“Now, Duo, you’re going to unleash the Sicarian slowly.”

I was _less_ cool with that.

“Please, Duo.  We need to know our limits.”

And because Tro was right, I gave it a shot.  Well, I tried, anyway.

I chuckled ruefully.  “Performance anxiety?” I hazarded with a twitchy shrug.

“How did it manifest before?” Master O inquired.

“I, uh, Zechs.”  I glanced at Trowa.  “He was there and it just… happened.”

Master O said nothing.  He walked over to Trowa. My husband looked up at him in question, lifting and turning his face… right into the fist that smashed against his cheek.

“What the actual hell!” I yelled, lunging for Master O, who took a prudent step back.

A hand clamped around my arm.  “Duo.  It’s all right.”

“No, it’s fucking not!  He fucking sucker punched you!”  I twisted out of Trowa’s grasp, glaring at Master O.  “What the hell is wrong with you, you bast—!”

“Duo!”

Trowa spun me around and blinked at what he saw in my eyes.  Whatever that was.  Then he lifted a hand to my face.

“Don’t you dare!” I snarled.

“Trust me,” he ordered and pressed his left palm to my bare cheek.

My fury overflowed— _How fucking stupid!_ —and I jerked back, tearing myself away from him.  “Goddamn it, Trowa!  Of all the fucking stupid things to do!  What—!  _Why!?”_

I choked on everything—every word—every single syllable in the English language—they were all jammed together in a single hot mess in my throat.

“Focus on the sound of my voice, Trowa,” Master O was saying quietly and I clued in to the fact that he was trying to help my husband.  Trying to help him control the burning embers that shimmered in the palm of his hand.  Oh, my God.  I was watching the Sicarian disintegrate my lover’s skin in slow motion.

Trowa slid to his knees as the burning expanded.  He bit his lip and stared hard at his hand.  The smooth skin at the edge of the wound glowed gently.  He was healing – trying to heal – but as I watched, a crackle pattern formed in his palm.

_No!_

I reached for him, pressed my gloved hands to his shoulders.

_Take what you need, baby._

“Duo, step back.  He has it under control.”

“What?  He—!”

“Let him concentrate.  He’ll be all right.”

Reluctantly, I let my hands fall away.  I sank to my knees beside him.  The center of his palm appeared to be little more than charcoal.  The edges glowed orange and rust, flickered against the pale yellow glow of Trowa’s power.  His breathing was slow and steady.  His eyes were closed now and his face relaxed.

“I can hold it,” he murmured.

“Good,” Master O said.  “You’ve done well.  Now heal it.  Methodically.  There’s no rush.”

Trowa drew in a deep breath.  He exhaled slowly.  Wave upon wave of healing energy swept toward the ashy crater that had formed in the center of his hand.  The patch of death shrank with each breath he took – inhale and exhale – until there was only a brief, bright flicker of angry red flame.  And then even that was gone.  Winked out.  His skin was pale and smooth again.

Master O said nothing.  He left the room.  The door closed softly behind him.

“Baby,” I breathed in wonder.

He smiled.  “I can hold you, Duo.  I’m strong enough.”

He reached for my hands.  I didn’t protest as he began tugging my gloves off.  He caressed my bare fingertips before linking our hands.  Skin on glorious skin.  His thumbs brushed back and forth over mine and I shivered.  I shuffled forward – just an inch – before I stopped myself.

“Duo,” he gently murmured.  “Don’t stop.”

“Are you—”

“I am certain.”  He shifted closer, so close that his lips brushed mine as he spoke, “Don’t stop.”

I didn’t.  I kissed him, merged our mouths, and pulled him closer as I reclined back onto the floor.  There was a pair of armchairs not far away, but I knew we weren’t heading for a round of cuddling.  This was going to be hot and fast.  But hopefully not too loud.

He covered me, pressing our chests and hips together.  Our legs twined.  With one more hot, demanding caress of his tongue against mine, he pulled back to nuzzle against my beard stubble, tuck the tip of his nose under my jaw and press his tongue to my bare throat.

My fingers tunneled into his hair.  I groaned as quietly as I could manage.

His teeth skimmed across my jaw and his lips sealed over the skin beneath my ear and sucked.  Hard.

My hips lifted.  I groped for the hem of his shirt, the waistband of his chinos.  His bare skin against my palms was a miracle.  Miraculous.  Oh, God.

He purred – fucking _purred_ – and braced himself above me.  “Clothes off,” he whispered, “or I will tear them.”

“Copy that,” I answered on a hitching breath, hastily yanking at ties and knots, squirming out of my tunic and letting the hood cloth slither to the floor.  I tore at the codpiece as Trowa kicked off his snug, silk boxer briefs.  Both joined the windfall on the floor that consisted of his T-shirt and trousers.  I still had my ninja legging-things on, but as the main course was on display, Trowa didn’t seem to care.  Neither did I.

I wrapped my arms around him, reveling in the simple freedom to touch him, have him in my arms, feel his hard cock rub against mine.  I pulled him closer, moaned against his shoulder.

“Trowa, please,” I breathed.

“Call me ‘baby,’” he answered.

“Ooh, oh yes.  Baby.  Husband.  Consort.  Mine.”

He feasted on me with his lips and tongue.  My own hands couldn’t get enough of his cool skin.  Fingers splayed, I groped his ass and his rolling hips began to thrust-thrust-thrust-thrust.

“Inside me, Duo.  Inside me.”

I wanted to so, so badly, but—  “Soon, baby.  I promise.  Soon.”

He whined.  Against the hardwood floor, his fingers curled into claws.

“You miss me inside you, baby?”

He panted against my nipple, nodding frantically.  “Yes.  I need you.  Need you.  Duo, now.  Inside me now.”

“I can’t fuck you with my cock or fingers,” I panted against his ear.  “No lube.”

“Duo!” he mewled.  “Anything, please!”

Anything, huh?  Well, if he was good with it, I could—

Just imagining it had me leaking.  “OK, OK, but you gotta get on your hands and knees for me.”

He leaned back and I pushed his hair away from his face.  “Are you OK with that?”  We’d never done it that way and I could guess why.  “Or we can wait until later.”  When I could go into town and acquire some lube.  Our only other pre-tested option was a no-go: I honestly didn’t think the dilapidated shower would survive the two of us.

“I trust you,” he told me, and then turned away from me, crouching on his discarded clothing.

Moving to kneel behind him, I caressed his ass.  “I won’t hurt you, baby.  You tell me to stop and I will.”

He drew a deep breath.  “I know.”

I massaged his cool skin, kissed and nipped at his cheeks.  Then I poked my tongue into his cleft.  He stiffened and the sound he made when I found his pucker—oh Jesus, yes.  I was gonna make this so incredibly good for him.  I licked him again and he sagged to his elbows, pressed his forehead to the fabric stretched taut between his clenched fists.  Reaching my left hand between his strong thighs, I wrapped my fingers around his cock, massaged the underside with my thumb.  Could he see my wedding ring – my declaration – as I gripped him?

“Ah—ah—ah—!”

His hot little mewls were so fucking amazing.  Would he say my name if I—?

I petted his entrance once more and then pressed firmly, my tongue dipping just past that tight, hot ring of muscle.

“Duo!” he gasped, pleaded, _needed._

I moaned, urging his hips toward my face and he got the idea.  The sound of my name in his rasping voice broke down into two syllables – two words – as he fucked himself on my tongue, as I stroked his hard cock, as I wrapped a hand around my own balls to keep from coming before he did.

“Duo!  Just a little deeper, please please please!”

That was just not gonna be possible.  Not with my tongue, anyway.  I pulled back, my skin breaking out into goosebumps at his incoherent whine of protest.  But then I was rolling him over and his legs were wrapping around my waist.  I met his gaze as I slid my first and middle fingers into my mouth and sucked.

His cock twitched, his hips rolled.  “Duo,” he urged.

“You are gonna come so hard for me,” I swore, lining up my first finger to take the same path my tongue had forged.

“Yes,” he hissed as I slid in, rubbing him firmly.

My left hand returned to his cock.  His fingers splayed upon the floor.  I stroked him inside and out until I could feel him swelling in my grasp, then I added the second finger.  His hands shot to my arms and he rocked up into me, riding me.  His green eyes glazed and his lips slack.  I rubbed my thumb over his wet slit and his back bowed.  His thighs tensed.  He pulled me closer still and I quickened the movements of my hands until—

Our eyes met.  He bit his lip.  The scream still escaped through his nose as he spilled hotly over my hand and his ass clamped down so fucking tightly.  Oh, sweet Jesus.  I was never, ever going to take this for granted.

“Oh, baby,” I praised him.  “So incredible.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t one of his contented and sleepy grins.  This one was pure fey pleasure.  With a twist of his hips, he rolled us.  Grabbing my semen-slick hand, he guided it to my hard cock and I cottoned on, smearing the stuff where we’d both get the most use outta it.

“Inside me, Duo,” he ordered.  “Right now.”

And then he sat back, impaling himself on me and—oh-oh-oh!  I was not gonna come like I had that first time: fast and fucking useless.  I was gonna enjoy this for as long as I could.

“Hmm, baby,” I breathed, thanking him for taking the initiative.  “You feel so amazing.  So, so _good._ Oh, Trowa.”

“Duo,” he said and the fact that it wasn’t a groan had my eyes snapping open.

“What – am I hurting you?”

He shook his head.  “No, but, my name.  It’s not—”

“Yeah, I know.  The philosophers who did it—they told me.”  I rolled my hips gently and he sighed.  “But do you wanna keep it?”

“Hmm.  I like the way you say it.”

We were rolling, rolling, rolling so gently.  Like a long, hot, leisurely fuck in a bubble bath.  I groaned.  Someday, we were gonna make that happen.  Someday. 

I gasped out, “Fuck, baby.  If your name was ‘Percival,’ I’d say it the same fucking way.”

“I believe you.”

“Besides, ahhh, if you wanna know what your real, er, first, um, original—”  There we go.  Got the right word eventually.  “—name was, I can tell you.”

He leaned over me, his hips rocking over my cock as his hands clamped around my wrists and held them down against the floor.  “How did you come to know it?”

“My grandfather – er, one of the fates – told me.  It’s yours whenever you want it.”

His eyes misted, shone with unshed tears.  He didn’t ask if I would really just give it to him, a gift with no strings attached.  Of course I would.

“I love you,” I said in answer to his unasked question.

His lips trembled.  “And I you.”

“Wh—what?”

“I’ve watched and I’ve learned.  And I am certain.  I love you, Duo.”

My fingers curled into fists as I felt a rush of heat and ice race up my spine.  I braced my feet on the floor and lifted him as I moved as deeply as I could reach inside him.  His head fell back and his cock – hard again – bobbed.  His grip shifted; he grasped my elbows and I clutched his, forming a bridge of outstretched arms between us as I took him, as he took me.

“Call me Trowa,” he gasped and that was the name I whined as I came and came and came and came.  The name I whispered as I rolled us both onto our sides and squiggled down, kissing his semen-sticky belly, licking his navel, and taking his beautiful cock between my lips.  I urged his leg over my shoulder and wrapped my arm around his thigh as he moved in my mouth.  His fingers petted and tugged at my hair, messing it up and making me smile.  I groaned, hummed, slid a finger into his slick passage, and followed every seeking twitch of his hips.  Gave him as much sensation as he could stand.  Swallowed as he came slowly inside my mouth.

“Duo,” he rasped, his fingers still moving over my hair as I licked his softening cock.

“Hm?” I asked.

“I am not finished with you.”

“Oh, fuck.  Don’t be.  Don’t ever be finished with me, baby.”

He chuckled darkly.  “Never.”

The house was conspicuously quiet when we emerged.  I peered through the empty living room to the front yard; the white clunker was gone.  Looked like Master O has suggested a very timely shopping trip.  Too bad no one was gonna be picking up any lube for the newlyweds.

But we were inventive enough to get by without it.  At least for another day.

“What’s our next move?” I asked Trowa as I sat bare-chested on the back porch, his fingers combing through my hair, drying and untangling the strands.  A shared shower shouldn’t have meant so damn much to me, but it did.  I was so glad to have that back, to have that – and this – with him again.  For as long as it lasted, anyway.  It killed me to think we’d have to give up this hard-won peace, but we’d have to face the music eventually.  So I thought about that instead of how much I’d enjoyed lathering every inch of him under the warm spray. 

He said, “Nothing.  We do nothing.  Stay here with me.”

Ah, my fey.  How I wished for that.  “Baby, if we don’t take this bull by the horns, it’s gonna run us down and gore us over and over again.”

I closed my eyes as I remembered the sting of the knife’s edge sliding across my throat.  And then the gunshots.  The first bullet hadn’t hurt so much – I’d been too shocked to do more than lose my breath and marvel at the hot, throbbing ache.  But numbers two and three… I’d caught up with events by then, so I’d felt those.  I had very much felt those.  How many more times would I be stabbed or shot as assassins crawled outta the woodwork to test me?  How many of those would reach Trowa before they did me?  Because I could see it happening: Trowa put a whole new level of meaning into “over-protective.”

“We need to handle this,” I whispered, “or both of us are gonna end up getting almost-killed once a day and twice on Sundays.”

“Not if they cannot find us.”

“Then the clan will assume that the resistance knows where we are and vice versa.”  The bloodshed would be phenomenal as each side tried to “liberate” us.

I sensed Trowa’s shrug.  “Let them waste their energies on each other.”

I was pretty sure that was how wars got started.  Y’know, when somebody in-the-know decided to not give a damn.  The only problem was that I did: I did give a damn.  “Baby.  You know I can’t let people get hurt just so I can, um…”

“Simply be with your husband.”  It was not a suggestion.  It was a freakin’ _order._   “Who does not share well.”

“I ain’t gonna make you share me with anybody.”

“Duo.  I cannot speak for the human side, but all of feykind will be clamoring for your favor.  Or, failing that, devising ways to manipulate you into eliminating their rivals for them.”

I shook my head.  “Not gonna happen.”

“Please, just stay with me.”

I closed my eyes and swallowed.  Somehow, just breathing made my heart ache.

But there was one issue we hadn’t addressed yet: “Quatre won’t stop until he finds us.  He’ll kill or use anyone he has to.  Not gonna be subtle about it, either.  I don’t want the first fey that humankind meets to be him.  It shouldn’t be him.”

“I agree.”

My eyes snapped open.  “You do?”

“Quatre is a threat.  We will deal with him first.”

“How?”

His reply was slow in coming.  Eventually, he asked, “What do you feel ready for?”

“A meeting, I guess.  Time to lay down the law, isn’t it?”

“Law down the law only if you are going to enforce it.”

He had a point.  A very good one.  I was not even remotely ready for that.

“But a meeting with Heero and Sylvia would be wise,” Trowa recommended.  “It’s time we learned how many are committed to the resistance.”

I was tempted to run with this, but—  “I bet Quatre already knows the numbers.  We’re not gonna win against him head-on.”

Trowa hummed.

“So, stage two,” I continued.  “We need more allies.  We’ll need a general meeting.  Resistance, clan, and masters.”

“Including Quatre?” Trowa prompted.

“I figure it’s best to keep him in the loop – or make him think he is – so he doesn’t try too hard to slither his way in on his own terms.”

“No location will be completely safe,” Trowa warned me.

“Unless we meet nowhere and everywhere.”  I glanced over my shoulder and explained, “Online.  Video chat.  Each person chooses their own location, they equip it with a camera and mic, and we provide code names for everyone.  That way Quatre can’t find them and either threaten or coerce them.  Or us.”

Trowa leaned over me and gave me a grin.  From this angle, it was upside-down, but I knew it was just an illusion.  Everything between us was right-side-up.  His eyes gleamed with pride.  “You are perfect.”

“I try,” I humbly conceded.

He tugged smartly on the locks of hair tucked between his fingers.  “There is no ‘try,’” he reminded me and I chuckled.

“Right.  OK.  So, let’s do it.”

He kissed my temple.

I figured there were three possible outcomes for the venture we were about to undertake.  First, immediate success.  Second, total failure.  Third, a blend of both with – hopefully – more progress forward than not.  Three fates.  One path.

I could hear the car bouncing and creaking up the drive.  Our accomplices had returned.  It was gonna be interesting to hear what they had to say about the idea of a general meeting and about getting the particulars on the resistance itself.  And I was gonna have to figure out what to do about school unless I wanted Solo to go absolutely nuclear.  But I had Trowa and he had me and I was still thankful for that.  Thankful and maybe – just maybe – ready to find out what other surprises life – or the fates – had in store for us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this fic. If you liked it, hope you'll take a little time to let me know. It's a fact that encouragement equals continuations. So, yes, your comments can and WILL make a difference! (^_~)


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